


Cherish the Time

by Amarok (ButterflyGhost)



Series: Daddy's Friend [4]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Redemption, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 17:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/Amarok
Summary: Ben and the Rays are investigating a paedophile ring, and it is affecting all of them in various ways. Ben struggles with repressed memories from childhood abuse, Ray Kowalski is worried about his and Ben's fledgling relationship, fearing that Ben isn't coping with his past, and Ray Vecchio struggles with rage and repressed grief, from his time in Vegas, as well as events from his own childhood.Fraser breaks down when forced to confront his history. The Rays save him, but Vecchio goes over the edge on discovering what Gerrard did to Benny. Will RayV as Bookman dole out Mafia style justice? Will Fraser and RayK's relationship survive the strain of the case and Fraser's memories? Will Fraser find his peace? Will Vecchio? Can all three of them save each other, or is the damage too much?





	Cherish the Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluehaven4220](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluehaven4220/gifts), [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/gifts), [Ride_Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride_Forever/gifts).



 

 

 

When Ben was a child his father told him that there are no happy endings. “Don’t fall in love, Son. It always ends. You never think of that on your wedding night. I was going to spend the rest of my life with her.” He threw his arm over his eyes and rolled so that he was lying on his side, facing the back of the couch. His voice was sloppy. “We should have had more time.”

 

It was one of Bob’s heavy seasons, and nature reflected it. Winter had clenched her bony knuckles on the world, turning earth and water to stone. The sun had not done more than glint above the lip of the plain in over a week and now the clouds hung pendulous with snow. They locked out the stars and the glimmer-dance of the Aurora. Ben knew the long night would pass, as would his father's heaviness, they always did. He knew also that both would return. Winter came back year after year; grief came back any time you forgot to look over your shoulder.

 

When Bob finally stopped talking and fell into a whisky sleep Ben tucked the blankets up to his chin, put a bucket by his head and stepped out of the cabin, clapping his gloved hands and hugging his bundled clothes around him. His grandparents were days away with their little library and hoped to be back by Christmas with fresh supplies. Ben would have liked to go with them, but didn't know how to say so without seeming disloyal to his father, who was, after all the only parent he had left. His grandmother must have seen it in his face. She shook her head with an exasperation both disapproving and affectionate. Grandfather was in a world of his own, his back to them all while he packed the books for transport, stroking their covers and tucking them in for the ride. Ben blinked hard. _I want to go with you,_ he couldn't say. _Don't leave me here._ Grandmother sighed and patted his cheek. “It will be good for you and your father to spend time together.” She dropped a brisk, dry kiss on his forehead. “You don't see enough of each other,” she chided him as though it was his fault. “Cherish the time.”

 

He _wanted_ to. He wanted to cherish the time, but was realistic. How could he cherish time with his father when his father’s heart was three years deep in the grave? Nine years old, and Ben had no idea how or why he had lost his father's love, but he knew it was his fault somehow. He should have been able to pull his father back from the edge, but he had missed the moment. His father hadn’t really seen him since his mother died. Oh, he’d paid the duty visits. He’d sat in the same room with him, made polite or, occasionally, drunken conversation. But he didn’t see Ben. He could barely bring himself to look at his son, not long enough to notice anything about him. Even before Mom died the man had been a visitor more than a father, a ghost at the family table. Now, when his father wept that he should have spent his life with Caroline part of Ben hated him. He wanted to scream. _You weren’t there anyway_ . _Why were you never there? Why aren’t you here now?_

 

It was something in Ben. Something unclean in him had driven his father away. His mother had covered whatever it was. She had maybe seen it but loved him anyway. Ben knew that. She had kept him safe. Before her death he had felt light and clean and - happy. Funny how he didn’t know it was happiness until it was gone. Anyway, all told, it was a good thing that his father couldn’t see him - if he did then he would never forgive him.

 

Or maybe the truth was worse than that. Maybe the problem wasn't that his father couldn't see him. Maybe the problem was that his father _did_ see him. Maybe he had seen through Ben right from the start. Maybe his father had seen everything. Maybe he _knew._

 

That thought was worse than anything else in the world, worse than being lonely even, and Ben had wondered some nights if loneliness could kill. You got used to it though. You can get used to anything, he had heard. Apparently, the cold wasn't a bad way to go. His father just wasn’t used to it yet, that was all.

 

If his father knew though, if he knew about Ben - yes, that would be the worst. Worse than cold or death or loneliness. And it would explain why he didn’t look at Ben. It would explain why he was lying drunk on the couch again.

 

And yet, if his father knew then why didn’t he make it stop? He could make it stop. It would be so easy. All he had to do was tell Gerrard to go away, stop visiting. He never did though. The only time Ben ever saw his father happy was when the other man visited. Sometimes he was even jolly. How could his father know what was happening and be okay with Gerrard? Surely he couldn’t know. He might dislike Ben, but he wasn't a bad man. He was a Mountie.

 

Then again - so was Gerrard.

 

Ben didn't want to go back inside, into the stuffy enclosure of the cabin, redolent of alcohol. He didn't want to be out here either, waiting. The cabin was worse though. His father lying lumpen under the blanket filled him with shame. How would his grandparents react if they came home early? Ben flinched from the thought. He wouldn't wish his father humiliated like that, and he could almost see the hurt look on Grandmother's face, the bafflement on Grandfather's. No hope or fear of their arrival yet though. Quite another visitor was coming.

 

Daddy's friend.

 

Hunched against the cold Ben waited outside on the porch, listening for the dogs. It was so dark that he couldn't even see his breath, but he would know when they were coming. He had a good ear. And yes. As promised their guest had made good time. Ben heard the team from a long way off. He knew that pack.

 

Gerrard was coming.

 

~*~

 

Ray jolted upright with his heart slamming and reached for Ben before he even registered what had woken him. Ben was making noises in his sleep, deep and wrenching; not groans, not sobs, but something raw and ragged, trapped between the two.

 

“Jesus,” Ray blurted as he flung his arm across Ben’s chest. Ben did scream then, and lurched upright, shoving Ray off him. He swung his fist wildly and missed, the air rushing by Ray’s left ear. “Fuck.” Ray grabbed out in the half dark, flung his arms around him, partly to comfort him, partly to stop that wicked right hook from knocking his damn head off. Ben thrashed like a dying fish, trying to get free.

 

“Ben, Ben, Ben!” Shit. Ray’s voice was too loud to be comforting, but he had to be heard over the noise. “Ben, it's me. Wake up. You're okay. It's me.” He rocked back and forth, rubbing his hand in big, firm circles on Ben’s back. Ben was keening now. Fuck, was this going to stop?

 

“Ben!” Ray yanked himself back and grabbed Ben’s shoulders, shook him. _Please don’t make me hit you._ “Wake up!” Ben froze, then sucked in a deep breath, held it and blew out. The whole thing was over as suddenly as it had started.

 

Shit. Reality dawned as Ray remembered what they’d been doing before falling asleep in each other’s arms. Well, as morning afters went, this was the least encouraging ever. Ray had worried he might wake to an empty bed (not that Ben was the kind to sneak off, it wouldn’t be polite) or that Ben might turn Mountie on him and be Fraser again. He’d run through all sorts of different scenarios before thinking ‘fuck it, it has to be worth the risk.’ Even in his worst imaginings though, he hadn’t expected a freak out of quite such epic proportions.

 

_Shit. Was I that bad?_

 

Ben was calmer now, but a full body tremble was still shivering through him. _Yeah, right, Kowalski,_ Ray scoffed at himself. _Make it all about you, why don’t you?_ Whatever had happened, right now was about Ben. And at least he was still letting Ray hold him, he hadn’t flown completely to pieces.

 

“Hey, you back?” Ray clicked on the bedside lamp. Ben blinked at the sudden light; his eyes were big and blank, red rimmed. He was pale as a sheet. Ray gathered him back in his arms. For a moment Ben was stiff and unresponsive, but Ray kept rocking and soothing with his hands and voice. Ben’s breath slowed, though it was still jagged as his muscles relaxed. He dropped his head on Ray's shoulder. After a moment he turned his head and nuzzled Ray's neck, put his arms around him.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

 

“Hey, it's okay.” That was bullshit, but Ben would know what he meant. “You okay now?”

 

“I... I think so.” Ben’s voice was rough, his head still hidden on Ray's shoulder. He didn't sound okay. For a while Ray let the silence stretch out between them. Ben didn't need to be pushed right now. After a few minutes Ben took another deep breath and sat back, breaking their hug and looking sheepish. He was still pale, but at least he didn't look wrecked anymore. He gave a weak smile. “Sorry, Ray. All better now.”

 

Ray snorted, then squeezed Ben’s shoulder briefly to take the sting out of it. He glanced at the clock. Five past five in the morning. He wasn’t quite sure what the next step was. What were you supposed to do when your -  lover? Boyfriend? What was he meant to call Ben now? Friend with benefits and nightmares? But what _was_ he supposed to do when Ben woke up screaming after a bout of incredible sex? Should they talk about it? Pretend it hadn’t happened?

 

Well, he hadn’t been raised by a bunch of Pollacks for nothing, plus he had been a Vecchio for a year. He knew what the Polish/Italian response would be to any problem.

 

Food. And Ben was a breakfast eater. So, it was early, but not _too_ early.

 

“You want to try to get back to sleep, or... uh... breakfast?”

 

Ben passed his hand over his face. “Breakfast, I think.”

 

“Okay.” _I called it. Breakfast it is._ Ray leant in and pecked Ben on the cheek. He would have liked a real kiss, to seal the deal on last night, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards. And he got the feeling he should give Ben space after _that_ screaming nightmare. Holy shit, his own heart rate hadn’t quite got back to normal. Breakfast would make things feel more ordinary, for Ben at least. Ray wasn’t much of a breakfast man, but Ben had a bottomless belly. Probably to feed all those ten mile runs with Dief and whatever exercise he did to maintain that sexy build...

 

 _Oh, for God’s sake, Kowalski, now’s not the time. Stop thinking with your dick._ Not the start to the day he’d hoped for, but at least Benton hadn’t bolted. Maybe after breakfast things would feel more normal. Whatever normal was going to look like. Ray sighed and pulled himself together. “Oatmeal?”

 

“Oatmeal.” Ben shot him a grateful look and returned the kiss, landing his lips lightly on the corner of Ray’s mouth. Ray’s heart flipped over and he felt his own smile before he saw it reflected on Ben’s face. Okay, Ben wasn’t regretting last night. That was something. Hey, that was everything. Or, at least a start. A man didn’t smile like that if he regretted what he’d done.

“You know,” Ray said as he got out of bed, “I never could stand oatmeal before the Quest. I mean, I don’t even like it now, it’s like wallpaper paste with, I dunno, lumps in it, but somehow breakfast just isn’t breakfast without it. Not that I’m much of a breakfast man. But, you know, if I _have_ to have it, oatmeal’s not too bad.” With buckets of sugar, obviously, but he wasn’t going to mention that. The last thing he needed was another lecture on diabetes and dental decay.

 

“Actually, some wallpaper paste formulas have a surprising amount of nutritive value, including calcium and protein,” Ben said, with a sly glint in his eye. “Of course, most people would object to the fact that the paste is made from rendered horse bones and -”

 

“Okay, Fraser,” Ray groaned. “Don’t put me off breakfast when I’ve only just gotten used to it in the first place.”

 

Ben affected a look of contrition. “I apologise, Ray. If you prefer I could cook you dead pig instead? With fried chicken ovum of course.”

 

Oh, great. For someone who’d eat Bambi as soon as shoot at him, the Mountie would make a great spokesman for Peta.

 

“I hate you,” Ray lied  and threw a pillow at Ben’s head.

 

“No you don’t,” Ben smirked and threw the pillow back.

 

Okay, Ben _definitely_ wasn’t regretting last night. Ray felt a surge of relief and narrowed his eyes in mock anger. “This means war,” he growled. In the tussle that ensued breakfast was temporarily forgotten, along with Ben’s night terrors. Ray got his kiss and more. It was only later when they finally did get around to breakfast and were rushing to get ready for work that Ray realised he had missed his chance to ask about the nightmare.

 

~*~

 

Ray glanced across his desk at Kowalski. The guy looked twitchy, like he was as wired and tired as Ray was. Not surprising, really. Yesterday they had brought in Saxon. Not the head of the ring, but an important link in the chain - the photographer, so it was a good start. Assuming this was an actual ‘ring’ and not just a chain of more or less casual affiliates. It was harder to bring all of those in. Benny had been the one to track him down, of course. Figured out what chemicals he used to develop his films and got Dief to literally sniff the bastard out. Saxon had been tipped off somehow, and the fucker would have got away without Benny’s superpowers. So, at least they would get more of the pervs, whether it was a ring, a chain or a square dance. Saxon couldn’t write down their names fast enough; he’d looked about ready to piss himself. Ray hadn’t been entirely rational, though he focussed that fury into the interview. For once Kowalski played the good cop. Ray stepped out for a minute and watched through the two way mirror as Kowalski affected helplessness. “I’m sorry, he’s always like this. I can’t really control him - best thing is to give him something before -” At which point Ray walked back into the room and smiled Armando’s lizard smile.

 

Hell, that hadn’t been an interview, that hadn’t even been an interrogation. It was a smackdown. Ray knew it, Kowalski knew it, Saxon knew it. No wonder the bastard folded like wet paper.

 

But even so. Even though they had got him, it was just a drop in the ocean. And it was a bad sign that he'd been tipped off. Did the department have a leak? Why would someone leak to a paedo? Was it just a mistake? Had someone gossiped and it got out or did the ring go as far as the police? Nobody knew yet.

 

Whatever had happened, it had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions, and Ray still had the headache to prove it. Not a hangover headache - he didn’t do those anymore - but an ‘Armando’ headache. An ‘I’ll never sleep again’ headache. Ray had been fighting the Bookman and losing, all day and then into the night, staring up at the ceiling, while around him the house slept. Last night the house had been too quiet and this morning the Bullpen was too loud. Ray sat with his elbows on his desk and stared at the write up of the arrest. He was so tired his eyeballs scratched when he blinked. As for the coffee - well, to be honest, the coffee wasn’t helping his headache.

 

This hadn’t been the usual insomnia though. Not guilt. Guilt Ray could live with - _needed_ to live with. He didn’t want to be forgiven. This had not been that. After all that he had done he had no right to ask. But there were worse things than what he had done, even more terrible crimes. And this case -

 

It was one of those cases when he didn’t want to catch the perp and lock him up - he wanted to catch the perp and break his legs, leave him eyeless and helpless and shattered out in the open for the vultures to tear in the desert. And having made the arrest, having seen the pictures - well. It led into one of those long nights when he remembered exactly how to torture a man, and exactly how to dispose of the remains. One of those nights when he remembered what it was like to kill - and enjoyed the memory. When he forgot to be guilty or ashamed; one of those nights when he liked knowing that he had it in him to do it again, to torture and maim, if he had to.

 

And he wanted to. He really, really wanted to.

 

 _Just as well I’m a cop then._ Ray squared his shoulders and reminded himself of that. _A cop. They let me be a cop again._

 

Not that they would have done, if they had ever met Armando, if they ever figured out how much ‘Armando’ Ray had been, once upon a not so long ago. And maybe Ray wasn’t really a cop anymore, maybe he was just a Vegas mobster doing a really good imitation of one - _but hey. It used to be the other way around. And besides, life imitates art, doesn’t it? If I fake it maybe I'll make it home again._ Maybe. Probably not, but Ray had learned to get by on pretending.

 

 _Fucking paedo kiddy fiddlers._ The thoughts kept spinning in his head. Murder he could understand. This though... Some things were so disgusting you couldn't ever see them, you couldn't even _name_ them without feeling sick. Ray had seen the photos, as he sat with Kowalski and Benny trying to identify the victims. When he blinked wrong they were there behind his eyes; it was better to remember murder, to fantasise murder than it was to be haunted by those images late in the night. It was better to feel murderous than sick.

 

Shit. Even Benny looked sick yesterday, and Benny hardly ever let his feelings show.

 

He scraped his chair back and shook out his tension - as much as he could. He might feel like crap, but he had a front to put up, a competent cop to pretend to be. He couldn’t do that by sitting around brooding on all the things he was going to do to those perverts when he caught them.

 

Catch them first, then decide whether to kill them or not.

 

“Kowalski,” he said, “you finished your write up yet?”

 

Kowalski didn’t say anything. He was staring at the wall - more like through it - and clearly hadn’t heard a word Ray said. For a minute Ray thought Kowalski was brooding on the case too - then the guy smiled. _What?_ Ray frowned. Definitely not the case then. He watched, carefully. Kowalski was still smiling, then he looked at the phone and frowned. Then he looked at the dying cactus on the filing cabinet and smiled again. Then he leaned forward and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand and let out a sigh. Then he sat back in his chair and smiled again, a quick flash. Then looked at the phone.

 

Okay. It was official. There was something hinky about Kowalski today. Well, more so than usual. Ray was used to Kowalski being a moody bastard, but even by his standards this was weird crap. Gold medal weird, they should sign him up for the Olympics of Weird. He should be teaching masterclasses in Weird. He should... well, Ray was all out of metaphors, but Kowalski was still weird. Ray allowed himself to be distracted. Watching Kowalski’s weirdness gave him something to think about other than his own. One minute Kowalski was grinning like the cat that got the cream (or got laid, Ray recognised the signs) and the next minute he was looking panicked and pained, like he had a headful of algebra or something. Then he’d be grinning again. Five minutes of this, and it was definitely a pattern.

 

And that wasn’t even taking the phone thing into account. Because the phone thing was driving Ray clear up the wall.

 

The minute he had the thought the phone rang, and right on cue Kowalski jumped, even though it wasn’t his phone. Not that he could have found it under all the paperwork he wasn’t doing. Ray picked up the call and watched as Kowalski spilled coffee on his pants. “Shit,” he yelped and glared across from his desk like it was Ray’s fault.

 

“You do _not_ need more coffee,” Ray groused at him, when he’d dealt with the call. Some woman thinking that her cat had witnessed a crime. Which maybe it had, but as Ray explained to her, the Chicago PD did not employ trained cat whisperers fluent in feline. Ray really didn’t need Kowalski’s crazy on top of everything else. Plus, the idiot was sucking down another coffee. Ray had tasted the coffee - not a solution to life’s stresses. “What’s up with you today? Every time a phone rings you look like it’s gonna bite you. Newsflash, we’re in the bullpen. The phones

are gonna ring every five minutes, you should be used to it by now.” A phone rang again, this time on Huey’s desk. And yeah, Ray’d called it. Kowalski flinched.

 

“Okay, that’s it.” Ray stood up from his desk and tugged on his coat. “We’re gonna chase up the leads on Kowlitz.” A nice, stress-free case - this guy was fiddling his taxes, not kids, so practically an angel compared to the fuckers yesterday. Ray was less likely to shoot him between the eyes and lose his badge forever. “Paperwork can wait, Kowalski. Maybe you’ll work off some of the crazy pounding the streets, maybe God will have mercy on us and we’ll be shot to death, but either way, we’re getting out of here before Welsh notices you’ve given up on ADHD and gone for bipolar instead. Because if he gets in the guys with butterfly nets we’re all screwed.”

 

Kowalski blinked. “What?”

 

“You heard me.” He grabbed Kowalski’s jacket and tossed it at him. Kowalski caught it, then dropped it, then scowled, scooping it off the floor. The guy was well off his game. Or off his meds, who knew? Maybe both. “Come on,” Ray cut in before Kowalski could start grumbling. “Up and at ‘em.” He winced. He was starting to sound like Kowalski. That was one of his phrases, wasn’t it? Even worse, he caught himself jogging on the spot making ‘let’s go’ gestures, like he was hyped up on chocolate and caffeine. Shit. At this rate they were going to swap personalities. Irritated he snapped “Come on Stanley, move.” He hadn’t ‘Stanleyed’ Kowalski in a while. He shook his head at himself. Not nice. At least it got him a dirty look, which meant Kowalski was paying attention. Ray jerked his head toward the door and started walking. “Let’s catch some bad guys. Or donuts. Whatever. We both need out of this box.”

 

“Uh,” Kowalski got to his feet, his scowl slipping off his face like he’d been faking it and couldn’t be bothered anymore. “Yeah, okay.”

 

 _Thank fuck for that. I don’t have to kill myself._ Ray rolled his eyes and led the way. Maybe he’d figure out what was up with Kowalski when they were away from listening ears. He’d actually got to like the guy, having worked with him a year now. He still pissed him off every single goddamn day, but he was a good cop and nearly a friend. If they hadn’t married and divorced the same woman they’d probably be buddies by now. So, if Kowalski had some kind of problem, Ray wanted to help. That was what nearly-buddies did, right? Not to mention cop partners.

 

Besides. If he didn’t do something he was going to have to shoot the guy. Just for some fucking peace.

 

~*~

 

Shit, shit, shit. Somehow Ray had tripped Vecchio’s sensors. Ray glanced at the guy’s profile, intent on driving. He didn’t look like he was paying Ray any special attention, but Ray knew his partner. Give Vecchio a case and the man was a pitbull. Once he got something between his teeth he wouldn’t let go. Ray’d seen it on case after case, not least the one they were working on now. Vecchio might be an annoying son of a bitch - well, scratch that, Ma Vecchio was cool - Vecchio might be a dickhead sometimes, but he was a good detective, and Ray didn’t want him doing any ‘detecting’ until he and Ben had talked about where the fuck they were going.

 

Besides, Vecchio probably needed a distraction, after what went down yesterday. Ray looked out the window and winced. To be honest, they all did. Shame that Vecchio seemed to have fixated on Ray as today’s distraction. Last thing he and Ben needed was Vecchio finding out too soon. No point potentially ruining Ben’s friendship with Vecchio by coming out. What if Vecchio was a homophobe? Ray didn’t _think_ he was, but you never could tell. On the one hand, he was a decent bloke (dickheadness included) and he never joined in with fag jokes at work. On the other hand, Italian Catholics didn’t have the best rep in that department. Not that Polish Catholics did either.... None of which might even  matter, because there was another thing to consider - a more serious problem than Vecchio. What if Ben didn’t want to carry on this... this thing they had? That Ray _hoped_ they had, at least. Because what if it was a one-off? Okay, a two off (nearly a three off, but then the first alarm went and it was breakneck breakfast time before Ben remembered they  were running late for work.) What if it was a result of a horrible, horrible case, and Ben only went along with it because he had desperately needed a distraction too? After all, it wasn’t like it was Ben’s idea in the first place. Ray was the one who was at the end of his rope and thought ‘fuck it, life’s too short, what can I lose?’ In the light of day he was thinking ‘yeah, but what if I lose Fraser, even as a friend?’ What if Fraser got to the Consulate, broke out of the sex haze and thought ‘what the fuck? I could have anyone I wanted, what am I doing with a scrawny American flatfoot?’ Not that Fraser would be so rude, even in his thoughts, but still... What if Fraser decided it was a mistake? Face it, Ben had looked so damned shocked when Ray first kissed him. Scared even. Yeah, that was the word. Scared. Ray had almost backed off and apologised before Ben lunged forward and kissed him back.

 

So, Ray _thought_ he and Ben were good. He kept thinking of last night and the good bits of this morning - then he’d flash back on how they’d actually woken up, Ben screaming and lashing out like his life depended on it. And yeah. Now that it was daytime, back to reality, Ray couldn’t forget that first glimpse of panic and fear when he kissed Ben. He kept expecting a phone call, Ben becoming Fraser again and Fraser telling him that it was over before it began.

 

 _Jesus._ Ray scratched the back of his head. Before last night he’d just assumed that Ben had never been with a man before - but the sex kind of proved that wrong. Ben was so damn _good_ at it. Not that Ray was a slouch himself, but holy crap. Ray had never _ever_ had sex like that before. Ben had kept him on the keen edge of it for so long that Ray had forgotten how to speak. Right before he came he was so high with it that he literally couldn’t breathe and then the whole world whited out. He’d heard that kind of thing could happen (or at least he’d read it in porn mags and Frannie’s bodice rippers which - yeah, nobody would ever know he read them). But outside of porn and books Ray had never had anything like that happen in real life. And then again this morning - nearly twice this morning. _Fuck._

 

Not that _that_ particular act had happened yet. And it might never if Ben got the screaming abdabs again. Ray sighed, audibly, then groaned. Vecchio had flashed him an astute green gaze before turning his attention back to the road.

 

“What?” Ray snapped. “Can’t a man breathe?”

 

“I didn’t say a word, Kowalski.” Vecchio’s voice was mild, none of that Stanley crap, but Ray wasn’t fooled. He’d seen Vecchio interrogate. When he wasn’t being the Bookman (and that was a sight to behold) he played good cop to Kowalski’s psychotic cop. Vecchio preferred good cop to Bookman anyway. The ‘Bookman’ persona got results more quickly, and sometimes they needed that. It had worked damn well yesterday. Ray had to admit it - he was a great psychotic cop, but even _he_ was freaked when Vecchio went Bookman. Thank God it was just an act... well, he hoped it was just an act. Whatever it was, it got that scumbag photographer spilling his guts and naming his accomplices ten minutes after Vecchio walked in the room.

 

Problem was, Ray had seen what it did to Vecchio. It was like even his eyes got darker. Plus, according to Stella when he asked about it, (and thank God Vecchio didn’t know he’d asked) Vecchio had nightmares of his own.

 

So, Vecchio being mild today wasn’t necessarily a good sign. It took longer than Bookmanning a suspect into submission, but it still worked. It got perps to drop their guard, feel comfortable and then give it up without even knowing how it happened. If Vecchio was in investigation mode Ray would have to find a way to derail him. And quick, before the wily bastard figured things out.

Well, Vecchio wasn’t the only crafty bastard in this car. Maybe something near the truth might work.

 

“Okay,” he said. “Vecchio. I have a question to ask you.”

 

“Okay.” Vecchio sounded polite, not exactly disinterested, but not particularly invested in what came next. Ray wasn’t falling for it. He knew Vecchio pretty well, after all. He’d been him for a year, could see through this Mr Calm thing. It was pretty new. Vecchio had been happy to play grumpy cop before Vegas turned his whole life mobside up.

 

Anyway. Vecchio could play a part, so could Ray. Skate close to the truth, not too close.

 

“Fraser ever have nightmares?”

 

“What?” Vecchio lost concentration for a second and nearly ran a traffic light. So much for Mr Cool. The car jerked to a halt and Vecchio didn’t even complain about his brakes.

 

“Sorry,” Ray looked out the passenger window. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He wasn’t actually playing a part at this point. He really shouldn’t have said anything. Ben having nightmares was a private thing.

 

Then again... if he had nightmares shouldn’t his friends help him? Vecchio was nothing if not Ben’s friend.

 

And Vecchio was staring at him, not a cop stare, not an interrogation look at all. A ‘what the fuck’ stare. Ray bit his lip.

 

“How do you know Benny has nightmares?”

 

“Uh - he kinda crashed at mine last night. After the case.”

 

Behind them, a car beeped and Vecchio blinked, looked at the lights, which had changed, muttered a curse in Italian and lurched the car into gear.

 

“Okay, screw chasing up leads,” Vecchio said. “We’re taking a lunch break. You tell me what’s going on.” He drew in a shaky breath. “You tell me about these nightmares, and we’ll...” he shook his head. “We’ll try and figure out what to do about it.”

 

_Crap. I really shouldn't have said anything._

 

Still. He’d said it now. Too late for take backs Besides, maybe Vecchio really could help.

 

Or knock his fool head off. At this point, Ray would take either.

 

~*~

 

Ben was finding it hard to concentrate. True, the paperwork was dull, but he was used to that. Besides, after yesterday’s case liaising with his Rays dull was not unwelcome. He could happily live with dull for the rest of his life if it meant he never had to see photographs of...

 

What was he thinking? He couldn’t quite remember. He stared down at the forms on his desk. Dull. Paperwork. Yes, that was what was wrong - things were dull. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog that seemed to have invaded his thoughts. Maybe he was coming down with something. Under normal circumstances, he would have done this on autopilot and it would be out of the way by now, leaving time for more interesting matters. And yet for some reason, he kept going blank, then finding himself staring at the wall.

 

Well, obviously he _knew_ the reason. He and Ray - Ray and he - they had -

 

He still couldn’t believe that _Ray_ had been the one to instigate things. As often as Ben had thought of... of.... of doing _it_ with Ray, he had never really believed that Ray would be... he covered his face and sniggered. Would be _up_ for it.

 

Oh good grief. Where did _that_ come from? Childish jokes and teenage giggles. He felt distinctly odd. Off balance, not himself at all. His head almost ached without it being an actual headache. More a peculiar sense of space in his head, as though it was emptier than usual. Which was unfortunate, because it let things in. Just brief flashes, images from last night superimposed over... over other images. Things from a perverted imagination, surely, things he couldn’t look at. Because he had never...

 

Next to him, Dief whined. Ben looked down at him and grimaced. Dief might be deaf, but he did pick up on Ben’s moods. “I’m sorry, I’m not much company today.” Dief rested his head on Ben’s knee. The heavy weight was a consolation as he tried to get back to filling in forms.

 

Really, this wouldn’t do. He couldn’t concentrate at all. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and carded his fingers through Dief’s fur. He just felt... wrong, somehow. There was something on the edge of his memory...

 

Nothing. He tried to remember, nearly had it, and then it was gone. Just sense memories, a taste of loam in his mouth, tears on his face and a heaviness, a weight that pushed above, on and _in_ him.

 

Ben’s eyes snapped open and his hand stilled on Dief’s head. No. He was aching in places that had no reason to ache. He and Ray hadn’t done _that._ He’d _never_ done that. Where was this coming from? He felt gorge rising and covered his mouth. He must be coming down with something. He felt sick. He never felt sick except when...

 

This wasn’t like that. Ray had come to _him._ This was not like Ben’s earlier remembered experiences, at the Depot, in Moose Jaw... He flushed, remembering how desperate he had been, looking for men, any man to....

 

A surge of memory hit him and -

 

“God, what’s _wrong_ with me?”

 

He jolted from his desk, dislodging Dief, and stumbled, grabbing the back of the chair just in time to stop himself from falling. Dief circled him, ears down, tail wagging nervously, making conciliatory whimpers. “God,” Ben repeated, gripping the chair to keep himself standing. He was shaking. Just a moment ago he had been thinking that he had never had penetrative sex with a man. Yes, he’d known he chased after men, performed fellatio (his gorge rose at the thought, as it hadn’t when he was with Ray, last night and this morning) but now he remembered....

 

_Kneeling in an alleyway, a stranger’s hands in his hair; gripping a sink in the men’s room and bending over, not looking at his reflection in the mirror, stretched out over a car bonnet, listening to the man behind him unbuckle and unzip...._

 

“How many?” Ben stuttered, appalled, and looked at Dief as though he could possibly have an answer. “How many times?” He swallowed. This was unspeakable. _How many - how many men?_ No wonder the RCMP had moved him from Moose Jaw - in such a small place he must have caused infinite embarrassment. Was this on his _record?_ Surely not, or he wouldn’t be working. At least... it couldn’t be on his official record. But, dear God. These things got around (as he had, apparently.) He would never use the word of anyone else, but - he stared at Dief again. “I was such a _slut.”_ Dief woofed and rubbed his head against Ben’s thigh, as though nothing had changed, as though the past didn’t matter. Which, to a wolf maybe it didn’t. For a sharp moment Ben longed not to be human.

 

He sank back into his chair, still shaking and feeling sick. Did his father know? No, he couldn’t... Ben bit his lip. That seemed like such a familiar, horrible thought. _If he knew he’d make it stop, he’d make him go away...._

 

“What?” Ben shook his head. His thoughts made no sense. _Make who go away?_ Dief stood on his hind legs and licked the side of Ben’s face, but it barely registered.

 

 _I used to - I used to go_ \- _Daddy’s friend - he used to make me -_

 

This was ridiculous. Ben put his knuckles into his eyes. _Nobody made me do anything._

 

Mud on his face, a weight on him, in him -

 

“Stop it,” he whispered. “Please, just stop.”

 

 _No, but you liked it. You stopped saying ‘no’, didn’t you? He didn’t make you all the time. Don’t lie. You said ‘yes’ often enough, you even asked for it, remember that? You remember asking? Harder, faster, more. Don’t deny it. He made you like it._  

 

“No.”

 

Ben didn’t hear the Inspector at first. By the time he did her face was hovering in front of his, a look of concern on her face. Dief’s head was resting on his lap.

 

“Constable? Are you alright?”

 

Ben sucked in a deep breath. “I’m... fine.” And really, he was, wasn’t he? Tip top condition. Fit as a fiddle. Just... for some reason he was dizzy. He blinked and the room came into focus.

 

“Are you absolutely sure?” Thatcher’s brow furrowed. “You are white as a sheet and look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

Ben chuckled, an odd thing for him to do in the presence of a superior, but he was still feeling hollow in the head. Hollow but better. He didn’t feel like throwing up anymore, which was a distinct improvement. “I assure you, I haven’t seen any ghosts lately.” Oh, good. He sounded more like himself - felt more like himself, if confused. What was he confused about? Ben gave up the puzzle. “Low blood sugar, I think.”

 

“Well,” Thatcher stepped back, still frowning. “Do something about that. And then...” she looked uncomfortable. “And then when you’ve eaten I need to see you in my office.”

 

He looked up at her sharply. Had he done something wrong? Was he going to be called onto the carpet for some infraction? He seemed to think that... Had he done something unprofessional? He couldn’t remember. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had been thinking about something just now, but dammit. He had lost his train of thought.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir. Do I need to write myself a reprimand?”

 

“No,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. He frowned at her, disturbed by her tone and the expression on her face. She seemed uncomfortable, but also pitying. What did she have to pity him for? “You’ve done nothing wrong, Constable. But I do need to talk to you.” She paused. “I need your insight into a... case. A cold case, that’s linked with... well, some of your work with the Chicago PD.” She cleared her throat. “If I could speak to you when you’ve eaten I’d be... well, eat first.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” He frowned. Something was happening that he didn’t understand. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to.

 

~*~

 

Kowalski seemed unphased when Ray picked a booth at the back of the cafe. He’d want this conversation private just as much as Ray did. What he obviously hadn’t expected was for Ray to slide in next to him rather than taking the seat opposite. Ray had effectively wedged him up against the window. The guy’s eyes widened, then narrowed, suspicious.

 

“Okay, so spill.” Vecchio kept his voice low, sending back his own fierce glare.

 

“What’s your problem, Vecchio?” Yeah, Kowalski was radiating attitude here. Reminded him of a punk wannabe soldati. Ray turned his body more toward Kowalski, blocking the guy’s view and putting him at a disadvantage. He wasn’t going anywhere if Ray didn’t let him. The reflection in the window showed Ray the room. Old habits died hard, and even here, in a Chicago greasy spoon, Ray didn’t want anyone creeping up behind him. And yeah, he _did_ know that Kowalski wasn’t an up and coming mafioso. Nobody was gunning for Ray these days - they were all dead or locked up - but still. Something was wrong and this was how Ray dealt with wrong these days. Watch the room, know where your exits are, and don’t trust anyone.

 

An hour ago he had trusted Kowalski. A cop had to trust his partner. Right now though - right now he didn’t trust Kowalski. Kowalski knew something about Benny - something that maybe even Benny didn’t know, and something that he sure as hell wouldn’t want anyone else to know. Something that Ray had known for years, and something he thought he had solved.

 

_‘Fraser ever have nightmares?’_

 

How the _fuck_ did Kowalski now about Benny’s nightmares?

 

~*~

 

Ray flopped into a corner booth and was about to look at the laminated menu for an excuse to put off the conversation when he realised Vecchio had slid in next to him. _What the hell?_ That was not the way guys did lunch unless they were in a sports bar watching the game, or the table was full. Guys did not sit next to each other in public. There were two perfectly good places on the other side of the booth, so why the fuck was Vecchio crowding him?

 

Because this was definitely crowding. Vecchio had turned in the booth and blocked Ray’s exit. And it wasn’t a mistake either, because Vecchio was glaring at him, his whole face tight and expressionless except for the eyes. The eyes were blazing, vivid with fury, sharp as broken glass.

 

Fuck. That wasn’t quite a Bookman face, too much Vecchio bleeding through, but it was pretty damn close. _Jesus, I’m cornered. Does he think I’m a bad guy or something? What the actual fuck?_

 

Ray jerked his chin. “What’s your problem, Vecchio?”

 

Vecchio stared at him, still not himself, still not quite the Bookman. Ray had seen the transformation often enough - this seemed stuck, as though Vecchio was keeping the Bookman at bay - or trying to. Maybe it was an act. If so it was a damn good one. Ray bit his tongue and said nothing. Vecchio tilted his head, eyes still fixed on him. Ray flashed on the image of a vulture sizing up prey and shuddered. Damned if he was going to break the silence though. Didn’t seem like Vecchio was going to either. Where the hell was the waitress? Could somebody just come and break this standoff?

 

No such luck. Vecchio sat there and gave a slight smile, unpleasant and calculating. He didn’t say anything, and didn’t say anything, and didn’t say anything. Ray’s skin started to crawl. He’d seen that same smile yesterday, Vecchio narrowing a bead on Saxon as he walked quiet and dangerous up to the table.

 

Well, Ray wasn’t a criminal and he wasn’t going to let Vecchio intimidate him. _I am not going to speak first. I’m not an idiot._ One thing any cop knew about interrogations was that if you got the suspect nervous and babbling something would spill. And no way Ray was going to spill anything to Vecchio because - well, dammit, the gossip around the station was right. Vecchio was a fucking _lunatic._

 

Eventually, Vecchio sat back a little, still blocking Ray in, but at least giving him room to breathe. He blinked, and the Bookman shadow that had been in his eyes a moment ago wasn’t there anymore. He looked, more than anything, confused.

 

“Okay,” Vecchio said, and passed a hand over his bald head. Nobody else would have noticed, but Ray did. Vecchio’s fingers were shaking. “Okay. Benny. What about him?”

 

Ray narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t taking anything for granted.

 

“You back?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You back in the room, or are you going to be possessed by your evil doppelganger again?” Ray folded his arms and glared. “That wasn’t nice, Vecchio. I’m not a suspect here.”

 

Vecchio didn’t say anything. For a moment Ray thought he was going to try and brush off what had just happened, then the guy’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh.

 

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I know. Not cool.” He got to his feet and moved around the table, sat opposite Ray. He looked - well, to be honest, he looked exhausted. “I just -” he turned his face and looked out the window. “I’m sorry.”

 

Ray felt his mouth drop. That was not something he’d been expecting. Not just the acknowledgment that something fucked up had just happened, but the apology.

 

“Okay.” He looked back down at his menu. Funnily enough, he wasn’t hungry. He sighed and pushed it away. “No harm no foul. Just...” he reached out and fiddled with the salt cellar. “What was that all about?”

 

Vecchio closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “Well,” he gave a brittle laugh. “You said Benny had nightmares. And - I guess I thought he didn’t have them anymore. I hoped he didn’t anyway.”

 

 _Wait, what?_ If Vecchio knew that Fraser had nightmares that meant that Vecchio had spent the night. If he spent the night then...

 

Before Ray could finish the thought Vecchio continued. “You probably guessed that Benny and I have history.”

 

 _Vecchio and Ben have history?_ Ray finished the thought and his mouth went dry. _Shit, does that mean what I think it means?_ He’d figured out that he wasn’t Fraser’s first man, but he hadn’t even considered the possibility that -

 

“Hey, earth to Kowalski.” Vecchio snapped his fingers in front of him. “Don’t look at me like that.” He curled his lip. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that.”

 

“Like what?” Ray wasn’t going to make this easy on the fucker. _He’s gonna have to spell it out._ “What _is_ it like?”

 

Vecchio was giving him a filthy look. “I’m not stupid. I know the kind of crap people say about me and Benny when they think our backs are turned. Newsflash. They come out with the same crap about you.”

 

“What?” Ray was getting angry now. “Spell it out. What ‘crap’ are people saying?”

 

Vecchio groaned and dropped his head on the back of the booth. “Jesus, you really are stupid.”

 

“Yeah? Well then, educate me.”

 

“Okay.” Vecchio sat forward and developed an interest in the scratches on the Formica table. “I’ll spell it out. People reckon Benny’s queer. They reckon maybe you or me - or maybe even both of us - well -” he shook his head. “People just think crap, that’s all.”

 

Ray didn’t say anything. Vecchio looked up at him, opened his mouth and was about to say something when the waitress approached.

 

“What can I get for you gentlemen?” She bent over the table toward them with a fetching smile. Ray felt himself on the verge of snarling at her, but Vecchio spoke up, smoothly. “We’ll have the house burger with all the trimmings and loaded fries.”

 

“You want bacon with that?”

 

“Yeah, why not?” He glanced at Ray and raised a shoulder. “And coffee. We’re on a coffee binge, might as well make it drinkable.”

 

“Okay,” she smiled again. “I’ll get that right to you.”

 

Ray watched her sashay off. She had long smooth legs, a short skirt and a perky butt. Probably made a shitload in tips. And he wasn’t attracted to her at all.

 

 _Crap._ He covered his face. Vecchio had said the word ‘queer.’ With that snozz, he was probably going to smell the gay on him.

 

Or maybe he’d smell it anyway. Maybe Vecchio was the same way about Fraser that Ray was. Maybe the guy had gaydar. Maybe he -

 

“Spit it out, Kowalski.” Vecchio’s voice was tamped-down menace. He was getting that Vegas edge again. “You got something to say then say it.”

 

Okay then. He’d say it.

 

“You and Fraser ever...” Shit. He couldn’t say it.

 

“Me and Fraser ever what?”

 

Ray shifted in his seat and made a frustrated, spreading gesture, hands opened up, palms forward, not entirely surrender.

 

“Were you ever - you know - ever...” He swallowed. He didn’t actually want to know the answer. “Okay, did you and Fraser ever have a - a thing?”

 

“What kinda thing are we talking about here, Stanley?”

 

“Don’t play stupid, _Raimondo_. You know what I’m talking about.”

 

The waitress arrived and poured coffee, then obviously picked up on the tension at the table and backed off. This time Ray ignored her retreating figure.

 

Vecchio’s face was cold, and - shit; very nearly Armando again.

 

“Yeah.” The word was a challenge. “Yeah, I guess I do know what you’re talking about.” He pushed his head right up in Ray’s face so that they were practically nose to nose. “What’s it to you?”

 

Ray flinched back in his seat and stared. _Jesus._ He felt like someone had dumped ice water on him. “You and Fraser - you and Fraser - what?”

 

Vecchio’s mouth twisted into a sour smile. “Yeah. I thought you’d be a dick about it. And - no. For what it’s worth, we didn’t.”

 

Ray shook his head. This wasn’t making any sense at all. “What? I thought you said - what?”

 

Vecchio sat back and laughed. “You running out of words?” He mimicked him. “‘What?’”

 

Ray flushed to his ears. “Look, just spit out whatever the hell it is you want to spit out.”

 

Vecchio pointed a long finger at Ray’s chest, stabbed it hard against his sternum like it was a blade. If it had been Ray would be bleeding all over the fucking table top. He felt himself go white and rigid with anger. _I am not going to rise to this shit_.

 

“If I hear you giving Benny a hard time about this, if you say one nasty word to him, I will break your fucking fingers.”

 

“Uh,” Ray reached out for his coffee. “Well, that’s oddly specific.”

 

Vecchio looked blank for a moment. “Okay,” he said and shook his head. All of a sudden the tension broke. He laughed - not a nasty laugh this time, a bit rueful. “Okay, I got it wrong. You’re not gonna be a dick about it.”

 

“About what?”

 

“About Benny... well...” Vecchio’s brow furrowed. “Look, did he come onto you or something?”

 

Ray blew out a puff of air. This he could answer honestly and still keep Vecchio in the dark. “No,” he said. _Because I came onto him._

 

Vecchio shut his eyes. “Shit. I just outed him for nothing.”

 

Ray shifted uncomfortably on his side of the booth.

 

“Nah, I mean -” he sweetened his coffee, stirred studiously. “Okay, maybe I kind of guessed.”

 

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

 

“Why would it?” Ray glared at Vecchio. He could trade dirty looks with the best of them. “Are _you_ gonna be a dick about it?”

 

Vecchio smiled, and this time it looked completely genuine. “Why would I? Doesn’t bother me. He’s not hurting anyone, is he?” For a moment he looked wistful. “Sometimes I wish that - well.” He rubbed his mouth, shut his eyes. “I just wish he’d meet someone who...” his voice trailed off. “Well, I wish he’d meet someone who’d treat him right, that’s all.” He swigged his coffee and looked studiously out of the window.

 

“Someone who loves him?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ray watched Vecchio’s reflection in the window. The guy looked - well, shit. He looked kind of broken up.

 

“You mean, someone who loves him as much as you do.”

 

Vecchio turned again and looked at Ray. Just looked, no expression, no aggression, no denial.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Shit. Ray swallowed. He was gonna damn well say it.

 

“Someone like me?”

~*~

 

Absently, Benton finished his sandwich. Parma ham with french mustard, cheese and salad, rye bread. The combination was still novel to him since the ingredients were not plentiful when he had been growing up, other than cheese, which his grandmother bought in bulk along with milk, convinced that Ben’s bones would be chalk without them.

 

 _Why am I obsessing about a sandwich?_ He should be preparing for whatever it was that the Inspector wanted to discuss with him. Not that there was not much information for him to prepare with. Still - here he was, delaying the meeting for no reason that he could pinpoint. A cold case she had said - connected to his work with the Chicago Police Department. He did a lot of work with the CPD, the case could be anything...

 

His stomach turned a little. _Let it be any case other than the Saxon case. Any case at all._

 

There had been something in the inspector’s manner though - an uncomfortable, hunched cast to her shoulders. _Of course, any crime might make her uncomfortable..._

 

Knowing his luck though, it wouldn’t be any crime. It would be -

 

Saxon. Fraser pinched his nose. What on earth possessed a man to...

 

Oh dear, he really had eaten that sandwich too fast. He had no right to berate Dief for greed when he had just made himself sick gobbling his food.

 

He breathed steadily for a few moments and the feeling passed. “Well, Dief.” Fraser looked down at his companion. “Into the lion’s den.” He put a finger to his lip. “Never tell anyone I referred to the Inspector in such derogatory terms.” Good Lord, he really was being childish today.

 

The Inspector was sitting behind a pile of paperwork but stood the moment Fraser entered the room. She smiled at him, in a manner that was - well, quite peculiar. For one thing, the Inspector had a tendency toward sternness in a working context. For another thing, it wasn’t the most convincing smile Fraser had ever seen. It seemed the sort of smile that a doctor might use to soften the blow of an unwelcome diagnosis.

 

“Sir.” Fraser settled into parade rest. Behind his back, his hands were clenched. Something was wrong.

 

“Fraser -” Thatcher paused, then gentled her voice. “Ben. Sit.”

 

At something of a loss Fraser sat, folding his hands on his lap and trying not to fidgit. “Sir?” his voice was pinched, high pitched and nervous to his ears. He cleared his throat.

 

“Fraser, there is no easy way for me to say this -”

 

 _Then don’t say it,_ Ben thought, in an unaccountable panic. He kept mute, staring at Thatcher as though he could silence her by the power of his mind.

 

No such luck, of course.

 

“Fraser, I know that you have been working with the CPD tracking the activities of a paedophile ring...”

 

Ben’s stomach lurched. He swallowed down nausea and resisted the urge to wipe sweat from his hands. His voice remained bland as he replied. “Yes, Sir.”  

 

“And I know how hard these cases can be...” She trailed off and looked at him, shifted uncomfortably. Ben looked down at her shiny red shoes, imagined himself wearing them. _There’s no place like home,_ he thought and closed his eyes. _Ridiculous._ What was wrong with him - other than that he wanted to be out of the room.

 

Thatcher took a breath and continued. “You and your colleagues have done good work in this case.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.”

 

“Extremely good work, in fact. I received a message from the governor, praising the efficiency with which you worked together - the phrase he used was ‘well oiled machine.’” She gave a very slight smile. “In fact, I would imagine that all three of you are in line for some kind of commendation.”

 

Ben nodded. No doubt he should acknowledge the praise, but there was still something odd in her manner, something which put him on edge. _Let that be everything,_ he thought. But no, she had mentioned a ‘cold case.’ _Please don’t tell me about the cold case._

 

She nodded. “And, as you know, in any kind of investigation, one thing leads to another.” She looked at him, carefully, as though she expected him to say something. He looked at her blankly. “And...” her intonation was slow and careful. “And... in this case... well. The photographer that you brought in - he - well, he had something of a trove.”

 

“A trove?”

 

“A... well...” She clasped her hands together and walked back around her desk. She stood staring down at it. No - at the papers arranged across it. The photographs. Ben fixed his gaze on the window. He desperately did not want to look at the photographs. “It seems that Saxon was a collector.”

 

“A collector?” Good Lord, was he going to repeat everything she said? He closed his eyes. He knew, of course, the kind of material that Saxon would collect.

 

“Yes.” Thatcher’s voice was very quiet, very kind. With a brief flash of passion, Benton hated her. Then his thoughts were still again, his heart blessedly numb.

 

“Constable,” Thatcher said, then “Ben.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Would you look at these pictures?”

 

“I would sooner not.”

 

Silence. Ben listened to his breath. If he didn’t say anything, if he didn’t move, perhaps this would all go away.

 

“Ben.”

 

“Yes.” His voice was pitched wrong. Too thin, too high. Ben bit the inside of his cheek.

 

“Ben, you need to look at this. You need - Ben. We need, the RCMP need - we need you to identify a victim.”

 

To his own surprise, he heard himself again: “I’d sooner not.”

 

“Ben,” her voice hardened, became more familiar in its sternness. “You became an officer to serve your country, didn’t you? To protect the public, to ensure justice was served, to protect and serve?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Well then. Open your eyes.”

 

Ben opened his eyes. He hadn’t noticed that he had closed them. The room was too bright, washed out. He was dizzy again, his head opening out again, echoing and empty.

 

“Ben, please. Come here. _Look_ at these. Tell me if you recognise the boy in these pictures.”

 

A voice, a voice of authority. He had no option but to obey. Obedient, as always, he stepped forward. Had he ever had a choice to do anything other than what he was told? He stopped at the desk. She had told him to look. He should look. He dropped his gaze.

 

“Constable Fraser.” Thatcher spread out the papers - photos. Reproductions: the originals were obviously in evidence somewhere, to be tested for fingerprints, DNA. They were black and white, for the most part. The ones in colour were washed out with time: glossy, but dated, slightly faded at the edges.

 

They must be dated after 1965, Ben thought, distantly, since the pictures appeared to have been taken using Kodak size 220 film rolls. He couldn’t confirm that without seeing the originals of course. Professional quality. Someone took his craft seriously. Even as copies Ben could see that the photographs had been creased in places, well handled. Obviously developed in a private darkroom by a talented amateur. There were some watermarks where droplets of the chemical developer had dried unevenly, staining the gloss. Taken in the territories, going by the foliage. Different seasons, according to the leaves. Even some in winter: for a moment he felt cold bite through him, as though he was lying naked in snow, but why on earth would he do something so ridiculous? He blinked back to the room, tried to understand the photographs. Different years, possibly... The age of the boy should confirm that. The Inspector had asked him to identify the victim. He squinted. The top of the desk blurred. He couldn’t make out the subject of the photos. The world was swimming and his eyes kept sliding away from the images.

 

Thatcher’s voice again, compassionate, implacable. “Do you recognise the boy in these pictures?”

 

He couldn’t even _see_ the boy in the pictures. For a moment he stood, frozen, then the instant cracked. He brushed his sweaty hands on his trousers and turned his back on his superior.

 

“Constable.” With a quick click of heels, she stepped up behind him. A hand dropped on his shoulder. The unwanted touch jolted through him like a blow and he cried out, twisted away from it. His fists bunched up, then he saw her. This was a woman. This was not - this was not _him._ He stared at the woman, nearly remembered where he was, who she was - then only remembered that he had to get away.

 

The woman was calling out to him, _‘Ben,’_ his name, like she knew him. He didn’t have to answer to her. He wasn’t going to answer to anyone.

 

Out. He had to get out. He had to get fucking _out_ of here.

 

~*~

 

“Someone like me?”

 

Ray sat back and stared at Kowalski. The guy shifted in his seat, defiant and defensive, but holding Ray’s gaze, his eyes fierce. _Did he just say what I think he said? Does he mean -_

 

The pieces fell into place. _Yeah, yeah he did. He does._ After the surprise, Ray felt it; relief. A long-held tension, a knot that he hadn’t even realised was there released in his chest. Next thing he knew he was leaning over the table, cheeks aching with the smile.

 

“Really?”

 

Kowalski was looking at him like he’d gone crazy, and Ray would have questioned that, but he was too damn relieved. “You and Benny? Hang on -” he paused. “I mean, Benny knows, doesn’t he? You’ve told him? ’Cause he’ll never make the first move. You need to take some initiative - have you tried -”

 

Kowalski interrupted. “You seem to be taking this well.”

 

Ray frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“You’re the one was just talking about gossip.”

 

Ray dismissed the objection with a flap of his hand. “Fuck those guys. Actually, don’t. Wrong picture. Uh.” He crinkled his nose. “They smell of fish and have no fashion sense. Except for Jack, but don’t fuck him either, he doesn’t swing that way and his wife would kill you.” Kowalski was staring at him shell-shocked. Ray ploughed on. “Nah, I’m just glad it’s you.” _I kinda wished it could be me, once upon a time,_ he could admit it now, in the privacy of his own head at least, _but there are some cliffs I can’t jump off, even for Benny._ “I mean, at least you’re not a murdering bank robber.”

 

Kowalski gave an uncertain smile. “Yeah, there is that.”

 

Ray paused, sat back. “So, does he know?”

 

“Uh,” Kowalski blushed and smiled, dipping his glance down to the tabletop. He looked suddenly shy as a girl on her first date. “Yeah, yeah, he knows.”

 

“Oh, of course he does.” Ray clapped his hand to his forehead. “Stupid, stupid Vecchio. Jeez, I don’t know how I get dressed some mornings. _That’s_ what you were freaking about today. All that staring at the phone and the wall and the potted plants and the...”

 

“Hang on, what - was I that bad?”

 

“Uh, yeah?” Ray laughed. “I thought you were high or something.” Actually, he hadn’t thought that, but it made Kowalski laugh. “So, I’m guessing you only just, uh, you only just _told_ each other?”

 

Kowalski blushed again, but he was grinning now. It was quite a cute grin, really, cheeky. Kowalski was going to be good for Benny, make him laugh. “Yeah, uh, yeah. We ‘told’ each other yesterday.” He darted a challenging glance at Ray and smirked. “And again this morning.”

 

“Hey, no details,” Ray lifted his cup and toasted. _Benny’s happy._ “That’s my brother you’re talking about.” Not quite a brother, not really, but that had always been the safest distance for Ray when it came to Benny.

 

“Does that make us brothers-in-law?” Kowalski quipped back.

 

“Maybe.” Ray put down his cup. “One thing though, I gotta say it.”

 

“Go on.”

 

Ray fixed his eyes on Kowalski and stared at him until the smile slipped off his face.

 

“You hurt him, I’ll kill you.”

~*~

 

Lunch over, Ray stood and threw his contribution to the bill on the table. Left a generous tip, because God knows, the waitress looked pretty damn freaked out by the two crazy guys in the corner booth.

 

And - yeah, he could see why she’d be freaked. That was - well, that was probably the weirdest conversation Ray had ever had. And he knew the _Mountie._ Things hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. Not the way _anyone_ would have expected, not anyone in their right mind. He’d started off lunch being interrogated by the Bookman and ended it eating burgers with a cheerful Italian cop who was in full celebratory mood, practically planning a  wedding. Oh, but with a side trip to to the really fucking dark side when Vecchio’s eyes turned to flint and he threatened to kill him. No doubt in Ray’s mind that that had been Vecchio, not the Bookman, and no doubt in his mind that Vecchio meant every word. He tried to shoot Victoria, after all. Said he saw a gun, but maybe he just wanted to.

 

Not that Ray was ever going to give Vecchio a reason to make good on his threat. He didn’t want to hurt Ben either - shit, if he ever did he’d probably shoot himself before Vecchio got to him. Still though - that was one scary friend Ben had. _Does it get crowded in there,_ Ray wanted to ask, _with all those different Vecchios running around in your head?_

 

Not that he was going to second guess his good luck. At least the crazy fuck was on his side. Ray pitied anyone stupid enough to piss him off. _Pity the fool._ He grinned at his shoes. _Yeah, well. He’s our crazy fuck._ Ray kept grinning as he followed Vecchio out the door, letting it swing shut behind him. _Ben and me, we’re a we..._ his thoughts trailed off and he frowned again. _Or maybe not. Maybe it was a freak thing -_

 

“Stop that,” Vecchio said.

 

“Stop what?”

 

“You know what. Don’t tell me you’re not doing your yo-yo thing again.”

 

“Yoyo thing?”

 

“You know what I mean. ‘He loves me, he loves me not.’” Vecchio snorted. “I’ve not even asked him, and I already know he loves you.”

 

Okay, that was as weird as anything else that happened since Vecchio dragged him to the diner. Fucker was telepathic now.

 

_Hang on. What did he just say about Ben?”_

 

“Is it just my mind you can read?” He tried to make a joke of it. “You know Ben loves me?”

 

“‘Ben,’” Vecchio repeated under his breath, then laughed. “Hey glad you guys are on first name terms these days.” He paused. “Well, not first names. I can’t imagine him calling you Stanley.”

 

“I can’t imagine my parents calling me Stanley, but they did. Come on Vecchio, spill.” He glared a little. “What do you mean you know he loves me?”

 

“You think Benny does casual? He doesn’t even comb his hair casual. If you two...” Vecchio flapped his hands again and didn’t look at him. “Well, you know. You think he’d do anything like that and not mean it?”

 

Ray thought about it, nearly bought it, then remembered Lady Shoes. “I... I dunno.”

 

Vecchio turned to face him, outraged. “You don’t _know?_ You don’t know him then.”

 

“Hey! Don’t bite my head off.” Ray shook his hands out. They’d turned into fists. Jesus, him and Vecchio, all over the goddam show. “I don’t know. I mean -” and this was the crux of it - “what the hell would he see in me?”

 

“God give me strength.” Vecchio rolled his eyes and looked up at the sky. “God, do You see what I have to deal with?” He shook his head. “Please, God. I’m begging You, save me from the stupid.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re either the stupidest man who ever lived, and I’m not ruling that out, or you’re fishing for compliments.” He cuffed Kowalski on the shoulder. “You’re not getting any compliments off me, buster. Let’s just go find Benny. He must have finished counting paper clips by now.” Vecchio strode ahead, hands in his pant pockets, coat flapping. Ray stared at his back, dazed. The fucker was muttering to himself, sounding amused. “Stupidest man and most annoying man in the world - yeah, that’ll work. Emo cops and a wolf, they could make a TV show. Jeez...”

 

_Okay. He’s insulting me. That’s good, isn’t it?_

 

Yeah, okay. Probably. Ray shrugged, then trotted to keep up with him.

 

_Crazy fucking Italian._

 

~*~

 

He was choking. Ben coughed and tore at his collar, ripped at the jacket as he struggled to get it off. A heavy jacket, a wool jacket - no - serge. Why was he wearing the red? Why was he dressed like -

 

He didn’t want to dress like a Mountie. Why was he dressed like Daddy, why was he dressed like _him?_ He tugged harder, pulled, and buttons popped. _I’m going to be in trouble,_ he thought, and then he didn’t care. Just so long as he could get the thing _off._ He shrugged and dropped it on the floor. It lay like a red pool at his feet. It should be red on white, he remembered red on snow. But this was wood. Shiny, polished wood. He looked around, frantically. He didn’t recognise anything. There was a big desk behind him and to his left a stairway leading up into darkness. Ben knew it was a stairway; he’d seen them in picture books, although he hadn’t seen one in real life. Nobody had stairs in a cabin. Why did this woman with her clacking heels and her needle voice _(‘Ben, Ben, can you hear me?’)_ need such a big cabin, and such a shiny floor, and such wide, shiny stairs? Was he in a castle? He didn’t believe in witches, that was silly, but this was like something out of a fairy tale. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to talk to the woman. She’d _seen._ He couldn’t let anyone see.

 

“Ben,” her voice again, and he flinched. Did he know her? He thought maybe he knew her. Or no, not yet. He didn’t know her yet.

 

What was he thinking? That thought was silly. Everything was silly. And why - he stared down at his yellow striped trousers, his high, glossy boots, his braces stretched over a crisp white shirt - and wondered. _Oh, oh no. Oh no, oh no._ Why was he dressed as a Mountie? How? He couldn’t be wearing his father’s uniform: he was much too small.

 

_Oh, I am going to be in so much trouble._

 

The woman called again, her heels clicking, and he turned to face her, to ask her to leave him alone and - again. No sense. _No. Oh, no, no, no._ He _was_ in a fairy tale. That was a wolf. The wolf was coming up to him, jaws open, tongue lolling, tail wagging. It was a wolf that thought it was a dog, but Ben had been warned about wolves. You didn’t play with them like you did with the sled dogs.You even had to be careful with the dogs, and know how to treat them. Nobody had taught him how to treat with wolves. Grandfather knew but he hadn’t taken him to see the wolves yet. And wolves were dangerous, even if you could speak to them. Wolves ate little boys.

 

Panic rose in him again. Ben looked at the woman, who was following behind the wolf. She was very pretty, and very scary with her white face and lipless mouth pulled tight in an angry line. She wasn’t a witch. Grandmother said there were no witches outside of stories. _Am I in a story?_ It didn’t feel real. But she _couldn’t_ be a witch. What if she was a friend of Grandmother’s? What if she _told_ Grandmother? He looked around desperately, past the woman, past the wolf, and saw the doorway. Big door, heavy wood, shiny handles (couldn’t be gold, that would be too soft - brass? He didn’t know, why did he care?) But a big, big door. He’d never seen a door as big as that. It went with the room, the desk, the shiny floor, the big wide stairs.

 

It was a big, scary door in a fairytale castle, but it was open a crack.

 

Ben had no idea what was on the other side, but he bolted, shoved it open, and ran.

~*~

 

Well, time to get back to police work, Ray supposed. It was going to be hard, he was probably going to be as distracted as Kowalski, but at least the day had taken a turn for the better. And he was going to rib the hell out of Benny when he saw him. He smirked and caught Kowalski’s eyes. He was going to rib the hell out of both of them. This was going to be fun.

 

His cell phone rang and he let out a little sigh. So long as this wasn’t Welsh calling them with another lead to chase up on the Saxon thing. He wanted to chase up small things today - easy to solve, forgettable when solved. Like that thing with the guy robbing parking metres - where he was actually sticking them on the back of his truck and driving off with them in protest at the council. That had been a fun one. And it had never given him nightmares or kept him up all night. Well, other than when he told Ma and the girls about it and nobody could stop laughing.

 

“Yeah, Vecchio here.”

 

It wasn’t Welsh - it was Thatcher.

 

“Detective.” She sounded tense. “Is Constable Fraser with you?”

 

“No.” Ray frowned at her tone. “We were just coming to pick him up. To liaise, you know.” He thought he had better add that in case she thought Benny was goofing off. He was pretty sure that was what she thought he was doing half the time.

 

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “That’s - that’s a shame. I had hoped he was with you.”

 

“What’s wrong, Vecchio?” Kowalski jostled up next to him, head practically butting him as he tried to listen to the conversation. Ray gave him a little shove so he’d have some space and turned on the spot, putting a hand up in a gesture of ‘wait.’ Kowalski stopped opposite him, eyes wide and worried. Ray knew just how he felt.

 

“What’s wrong?” Ray repeated the question. “Where’s Benny?”

 

“If I knew that, Detective, I would scarcely be asking you.”

 

Okay, he deserved that.

 

“What happened? Is he in trouble? Did someone - uh -” Okay, he felt silly, but he had to ask it. “Has he been kidnapped or something?”

 

“Kidnapped?” Kowalski tried to grab the phone off him and Ray stepped back, glaring at him.

 

“No, no,” Thatcher said. “Nothing like that.”

 

“But - but he is in trouble, right?”

 

“Yes.” Thatcher’s voice was tight. “Yes, I rather think he is.”

~*~

 

By the time they got to the consulate, Ray was ready to pull his hair out. Vecchio didn’t look much better - not that he had hair to pull out, but he looked like he was vibrating out of the driver’s seat. To be honest, he probably wasn’t safe behind the wheel. Ray wouldn’t have been any safer - and at least Vecchio drove like his life depended on it. Or Ben’s.

 

Shit. They were both overreacting. They had to be. All Thatcher had said was that Ben had freaked out about something and left without saying where he was going. A guy could go for a walk to clear his head without it being an emergency, couldn’t he?

 

Yeah, but this was Ben. Ben didn’t freak out about _anything._ What the hell could rattle Ben’s cage so badly that he’d abandon his post like that?

 

Vecchio swung the Riv at speed through traffic, then rounded the corner to the Consulate and squealed to a halt, parking diagonally and illegally in front of a fire hydrant. Ray had the side door open before they had stopped, and Vecchio was only seconds behind him. They barrelled up the steps together, piling through the door and stumbling to a halt. Thatcher was standing in the foyer, as though she’d been expecting them. Well, obviously she had, but she would normally have been in her office. Instead, she was facing them, arms crossed defensively across her chest, anxiety clearly written on her face.

 

At her feet lay a red tunic, buttons torn and scattered, little gleams of gold like pebbles on the floor.

 

“The fuck?” Ray heard his voice, too loud. He flung his arms out, gesturing to the fallen serge. “You said he just left. Did someone attack him?”

 

Next to him, Vecchio dropped to his knees, started picking up buttons. The guy was white and shaking. _Stands to reason Vecchio would freak about the suit,_ Ray thought, then hated himself. Vecchio was as messed up as he was. _Shit..._ it hit him. “Vecchio, the fuck? This could be a crime scene! You’re contaminating evidence!” Vecchio jerked back on his haunches, dropped the buttons. “Fingerprints,” he groaned and covered his face. Ray turned back to Thatcher. He didn’t have time to worry about Vecchio melting down.

 

He jerked the pointies of both hands at her. “Someone pulled that off him. Who the hell pulled it off him?”

 

“He did.” _What?_ Thatcher turned on her heel and strode to her office. “Come in here Detectives.” She sounded flat, resigned. “I didn’t want to have to do this - not without the Constable’s permission. But - well.” She sighed. “This _is_ your case, and I suppose you would have seen it sooner or later. I just wanted him to be forewarned.” She turned, still hugging herself. “There’s something I think you need to see.”

~*~

 

Ben ran. He was in a strange place, concrete and glass, too many cars, too much noise. He wove in and out of the crowd, rushing past startled looking people - so many more people than he had seen together in his life - and kept running. Every time he glanced over his shoulder he could see the white wolf, loping along like it would never stop.

 

 _No, no, no._  He couldn’t cry or shout for help, he was running too fast, faster than he’d ever run, and every breath he snatched burned. Pain jolted up his back with every thumping step and receded on the upbeat, then broke through him again as his feet slapped the sidewalk. He didn’t know how long he’d been running. He didn’t know how long he could keep going. He _had_ to though. He had to keep running. He looked behind him, and the wolf was gaining.

 

He turned a corner sharply - it was like his feet knew where to go - and saw before him a green space, trees, water. He’d be safe if he could get to proper country - if he could just get off this grey punishing road onto the grass. He thrust everything he had into it and speeded up, noise all around him, cars honking and squealing as he dodged them.

 

Grass beneath his feet, and he was heading to the trees. Faster and faster - then he was in the woods. The wolf was still behind, so close that Ben could hear its panting. He couldn’t - he couldn’t run any faster. He had to - he -

 

His foot caught on a root, and Ben was falling. He screamed and rolled, curled into a foetal position. He was going to die. A big, heavy body pushed against him. Ben couldn’t even scream now. He lay still and waited for the teeth.

 

Next to him came a wumph, then a warm and wet stripe from his chin to his ear. He opened an eye. The wolfish face pressed up against his own. It nuzzled next to him, carried on licking his cheek.

 

Ben sat up slightly, staring. The burning in his chest was easing as his breath came back. With his breath came understanding and what remained of his sense.

 

“Dief?”

~*~

 

At first, Ray didn’t understand what it was that Thatcher had handed him. He thought he understood. He was looking at a photograph of a boy - somewhere between six and ten, it was hard to tell. All you could see was his face, staring at the camera. Ray knew without asking that this was the first photo in a series, and he knew what kind of series it was. He held it out to show Kowalski and the other guy took in a sharp breath. Ray squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. They’d just been looking at these damned things on the Saxon case. When was enough _enough_ already?

 

He opened his eyes and looked again. There was something about the kid’s eyes. They were too vivid. The bright blue was glittering and glassy, not quite with tears, but like the boy had learned not to cry. Yeah, Ray had seen enough of these pictures to recognise the expression. The kid was hiding fear behind anger, but the anger was hopeless and just so - Jesus, that poor child. He looked so fucking - _sad._

 

And then Ray saw it. His stomach clenched and the world wobbled. Beside him, Kowalski had put his fist to his mouth.

 

“Oh my God.” He stared at Thatcher and saw the confirmation in her eyes before he said it. “That’s Benny.”

 

~*~

 

Vecchio had his arms around him and was dragging him back from Thatcher’s desk. Ray struggled. He had to see this - he _had_ to see the other photographs. That couldn’t be - it _couldn’t_ be Ben. He was shouting it. “That’s not him. It can’t be him. It’s not -”

 

“Don’t, don’t, don’t - Kowalski -” Vecchio was shouting in his ear. _“Ray!”_

 

Ray stopped dead in his tracks, arrested by the sharp slap of his name coming from Vecchio. The two of them stumbled backwards. Vecchio braced, held him steady and didn’t let go. He was pressed up against Ray’s back, breathing hard. “Don’t look.” His voice was softer now, shaking. “I swear to God, Ray, you don’t gotta look. You do _not_ want to see those.”

 

“You haven’t seen them yet. They mightn’t be bad pictures. They might be - I mean - that’s just - that’s just his _face._ Maybe the rest are like that, just - just his face -”

 

“Kowalski.” Vecchio’s voice cracked. “You saw the look in his eyes. You’ve seen that look before.”

 

_Oh, God._

 

Ray covered his own face. Vecchio released him and for a moment he felt as though he couldn’t even stand. He sucked in breath ’til the nausea receded. Face still covered he whispered into his hands. “Does Ben know about these?”

 

Thatcher cleared her throat. “That’s - that’s difficult to answer.”

 

Ray lifted his head and stared at her. “What do you mean?” He pointed at the desk. At the photos, mercifully covered with a folder. “It’s either a yes or no.”

 

“It’s not as simple as that,” Thatcher said and sat down in her chair. She sagged, then looked up at Ray and Vecchio. “I am very sorry, Detectives. I handled this situation poorly.”

 

Vecchio lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How’s that then?” He’d gone quiet and calm, but not a good calm. Thatcher maybe didn’t know it yet, but if she said the wrong thing here, she was gonna be in a world of hurt.

 

“I -” she gestured at the desktop. “These came to my attention today. The identifying details in the photographs - flora, environmental cues relating to weather, geographical features - they indicated that the photographs had been taken in Canada. In the far North.” She laid her hands flat on her knees. “Specifically, the Northwest Territories. So, obviously, the RCMP had to be informed. Since the Corporal knows the Territoris, and since he had been working with the Americans -” she paused, clearly remembering that she was talking to said Americans - “that is to say, since he had been working with you on the case the file was sent to me. And - well.” She was looking anywhere but at Ray and Vecchio. “Well, when I saw them I -”

 

“You recognised him?” Vecchio’s voice was still dangerously quiet. Ray said nothing. He wasn’t sure he could talk.

 

“Yes.” Thatcher stood up and paced to the window, looked out of it, away from the men. Her hands were clenched behind her back. “Saxon’s collection of -” her knuckles whitened. “His ‘collection’ was extensive. He exchanged pictures with other -”

 

“Paedophiles.” Ray managed. Turned out he could talk, after all. Thatcher couldn’t even say the word. He _bet_ she’d handled it badly. From the look of things, she’d completely fucked up. Not that he’d done any better. Not that Vecchio had either - seemed they were taking it in turns to fall apart today. Right now though, Vecchio’s focus was razor sharp.

 

“So,” Vecchio said. “These photos were taken by someone else and Saxon got hold of them because these paedos are passing them around?”

 

“Yes.” Thatcher turned back to face them, pressed her knuckles against her forehead and rubbed. Made sense she’d have a headache. _Good._ Ray knew he was being spiteful and unfair, but he couldn’t help it. _Serves her right._ “I’m afraid so. Not only does he take his own photographs of the - of the victims. His network of - of - similarly minded criminals -” she coughed. She really was finding this difficult. “His network is extensive, and it appears has been active for - for many years.”

 

Vecchio nodded. “At least thirty.” His voice was dead calm.

 

Ray took a deep breath and found his voice. They were missing the most important question here. “You got any idea who took these?”

 

Thatcher spread her arms out, helplessly. “We have no idea. That’s why I -” she flushed then went pale. “That’s why I showed them to the Corporal.”

 

“You showed these to Benny?” Vecchio was getting quieter, and oh fuck, all the oxygen was leaving the room. Thatcher hugged herself again like she felt the chill.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am. But I needed to know for sure, and I tried the gentle approach, but he wouldn’t even look at them. I simply - I thought maybe he needed a different approach.”

 

“What fucking approach?” Ray stepped forward. Thatcher stepped back fractionally. “What the fuck did you do?”

 

She stuttered and looked at her shoes. “It didn’t work. I honestly didn’t think he would react like that. I just thought that if I forced him to confront it...” She winced. “Tough love.”

 

“Love?” Vecchio’s voice was developing a hard edge. “You hear that, Kowalski?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray bunched his fists in his pockets. “I heard.”

 

“It - didn’t go well.”

 

“We can see that.” Vecchio’s flat tones clearly indicated that he thought Thatcher was a moron; his cold eyes warned that he was one step away from full-fledged Bookman.

 

“I assumed he would remember. I didn’t expect him to run!”

 

“You idiot!” Ray thumped a fist into his palm - better than her face. “You never done any sensitivity training, lady?”

 

“How often do I have to say it, Detective?” Her voice took on a note of desperation. “I knew he would find it distressing, but he was our best chance to find the perpetrator. I didn’t push him to hurt him. I pushed him because I thought that he would know who the criminal was.”

 

Vecchio leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. A poisonous expression flitted across his face and his voice came out toxic.

 

“Oh, I have a good idea who it was.” He caught Thatcher’s eye and gave a twisted smile, as though he had bitten into a rotten fruit. “You’re not going to like it.”

 

“Who?” Thatcher and Ray spoke together.

 

Vecchio’s eyes went dark.

 

“Gerrard.”

~*~

  


Ben sat with his arms around Dief for a long time. He leant back against a tree and shut his eyes, feeling his heart beating. The interstitial muscles of his ribs expanded and contracted as his breath moved in and out. Birds were singing. The noises of Chicago were muffled by distance. Ben wasn’t sure how far he had run, or exactly which park he had ended up in. Jackson, probably.  

 

Dief stood, turned in circles, huffing, then lay down, stretched his body across Ben’s lap and wrapped himself around him. Ben smiled down at him. _The lupine equivalent of a hug._ That was one of the first things his Grandfather had taught him about wolves. That they offered comfort through contact. Wolves, like dogs, lay alongside, beneath, around. Ben and Dief were pack.

 

And so had he and Grandfather been. Strange that he rarely spoke of him. Perhaps because he had been so private a man that even sharing memories of him felt intrusive. Ben remembered him now. Grandfather with his regard for books, even more obsessive than Grandmother’s, his quiet love of the land. Grandfather with his slow, deep baritone, with his big, rough-fingered hands resting over Ben’s, guiding them to the frets and strings as he taught Ben to play guitar.

 

Ben still had that guitar. His childhood hadn’t all been bad.

 

Peace was settling on him as his breath calmed.

 

“Thank you, Dief,” Ben whispered. He curled his fingers into the deep fur and scratched. Dief’s tail thumped the ground, steady and slow. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes staring up at Ben - whether to reassure himself or his human was unclear. Ben didn’t know. He was just grateful. He rested his head on the trunk behind him, felt the corrugated bark against his skull, and closed his eyes. The earth smelled of autumn, damp and rich. His mind circled slowly, memories good and bad drifting like leaves. He didn’t fight them, he didn’t bury them, he didn’t sweep them aside. He let them fall and settle, and then just looked.

 

He saw himself as a boy and understood for the first time what a _little_ boy he had been. That he had been a child, missing his mother, missing his father, frightened and lonely. He let himself feel what that had been like - thinking he was soiled and ruined forever, thinking it was his fault. He saw the boy crying where he knew nobody could see him and felt tears on his own face. _Poor boy._ The thought was a revelation. At last, he understood. _It’s not your fault._

 

His muscles were heavy with exhaustion after the flood of adrenaline, and his head drooped. For the first time since he was six, he felt truly safe in the woods. The first time in all these years that he’d felt safe _anywhere._ He was safe. He’d never even known that he’d spent his life afraid. He didn’t have to pretend anymore. He was a healthy adult man sitting with a friend by a buckthorn tree. He had no need to do anything other than enjoy the woods. He could sit here and listen to the wind and the birds, the chattering of the autumn leaves in the branches above him, the rustling of little creatures in the undergrowth. No need to fear the dark here, and nothing to blind himself to. He was safe.

 

He slept for a while and woke amidst longer shadows to hear the footsteps crunching across leaves. He knew who was coming before he heard their voices.

 

“He must be here somewhere - that’s where Gladys saw Dief.”

 

“Gladys? You on first name terms with the winos now? Jeez, Kowalski, you and Benny are made for each other. If you’d asked her if she’d seen an elephant in a polka dot tutu she’d a probably said ‘it went thataway.’”

 

His Rays. Of course, they’d come for him. One Ray’s voice was tight and nervous, the other Ray was grousing. They were probably frantic.

 

He felt better, cleaner, not guilty - but still. He was so sorry to have put them through this.

 

He cleared his throat. His voice was rough, came out sounding like gravel.

 

“Here,” he said. “I’m here.”

 

He couldn’t quite think what else to say, but he’d worry about that later.

~*~

 

By the time they got Benny to the Riv, he was practically sleepwalking. He and Kowalski had their arms around him, propping him up, and he was weaving like a drunk. Benny seemed - well, to be honest, he wasn’t as bad as Ray had feared. White as a sheet, eyes red-rimmed, tear tracks on his face, his white shirt covered in mud and his palms scraped bloody from a fall, but weirdly calm. He’d even looked up and smiled when he saw them.

 

Ray didn’t trust it. To be honest, it was scaring the shit out of him.

 

“Okay, Benny, we’re here. Steady - Kowalski, you got him?”

 

Kowalski nodded, tight-lipped, and got in the back of the car first, guiding Benny in after him as Ray made sure he didn’t bash his head on the roof going in. Benny landed heavily then slid sideways, sprawling half across Kowalski’s lap. “Like a wolf,” Benny mumbled and fell asleep. Kowalski wrapped his arms around Benny and looked up at Ray, an anguished expression on his face.

 

“Is he gonna be okay?”

 

Ray had no idea, but he wasn’t going to tell Kowalski that.

 

“Yeah,” he said, gently. The guy needed gentle after the shocks of the day. “Benny’s gonna be fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” Kowalski was almost as white as Benny. “What if he -” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a cork. “What if he remembers what we - what we did last night and it’s not what he wanted? What if it’s just because he was - and I - I took advantage - what -”

 

“Hey, quit that, Kowalski.” Ray sharpened his tone. Maybe the idiot didn’t need gentle at all. Maybe he needed that kick in the head he was always threatening people with. “What you and Benny did or didn’t do - and God knows I don’t need a description - one thing I can tell you is this. It has nothing to do with what some old pervert did before any of our voices broke. Capice?”

 

Kowalski looked up at him, frightened and hopeful, and, oh God, reminding Ray of Benny’s expression in that damn photograph. The poor bastard looked raw and young. Ray already hated Gerrard for all that he’d done to Benny, but he’d have hated him anyway for putting that look on Kowalski’s face. _Damn, what can I say here, what’s the right thing to say?_ There had to be something...

 

Okay. He had it. He hoped he had it.

 

“Kowalski.” Ray looked at him, made sure the guy was looking back, could see that he meant it. “You didn’t rape him.”

 

Kowalski sucked in a shuddering breath and Ray turned his head to give him some privacy. Guy looked this close to crying. Ray caught Dief’s attention, jerked his head to the back of the car, mouthed ‘look after them.’ It was going to be crowded on the back seat, but Dief was probably the best thing for Benny and Kowalski right now. And Ray couldn’t babysit them. He needed to pull his own self together if he was going to drive safely.

 

He slid into the comforting familiarity of the Riv and settled his hands on the steering wheel, rested his forehead against the curve of it for a minute.

 

Okay. They had Benny, that was what mattered. Ray steeled himself, threw the car in gear and backed out of their spot. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Kowalski’s eyes were closed, his head resting against the upholstery, neck arched and vulnerable. He cradled Benny in one arm. His other was draped over him, one long hand gently stroking Benny’s hair.

 

Something painful twisted in Ray’s chest - not jealousy, he didn’t love Benny like that - but so close to jealousy that he had to look away.

 

Even with that sharp tug of loneliness though, Ray was glad, with a piercing sense of relief and release, that there was someone else in the world who loved Benny, and that someone would love him the way that he deserved.

 

He drove slowly for once, sticking to the posted limits, so as not to rattle his passengers. Turned left at the lakefront and headed for Kowalski’s. Time to get Benny settled, phone Thatcher, phone Welsh, all that fun stuff.

 

They’d start building a case against that fucker Gerrard tomorrow. Today and tonight - well, it was all about Benny.

 

They were fine. They were all fine. It was going to be okay.

~*~

 

“He’s asleep.” Vecchio’s voice was low, though to be honest, they could put on clogs and tap dance; Ben would probably sleep through it. Ray dropped heavily on the couch and folded an arm across his face. Today had been the worst day of his whole damn life, no contest. And that included when Babcia died and the day Stella served him divorce papers.

 

He felt Vecchio nudging his foot and looked down to see his shiny shoes. For once he didn’t tease him about being a style pig.

 

“Here.” Vecchio handed him a bottle of beer. Ray took it, curled his hand around it, looked at his fingers, pale against the brown glass.

 

“Thanks,” he said, and looked up at Vecchio. “You got one for yourself?”

 

Vecchio paused for a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell? I think I need one.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray lifted his bottle in a toast and took a long pull of the beer. He shut his eyes again, not yet relaxed but glad to be at least sitting. After a moment he felt the seat sag next to him, the springs complaining. He really needed a new couch. “So.”

 

“So.” Vecchio sounded as weary as he did, though Ray reckoned he was just as unlikely to sleep.

 

“You really think he’s gonna be alright?”

 

Vecchio didn’t say anything. Ray turned his head and looked at him. The guy was perched on the edge of the couch, hunched over his knees and staring at his feet. Shit. That wasn’t the answer Ray had been hoping for.

 

Crap, he didn’t know what to say.

 

Vecchio broke the silence.

 

“When I was a kid...” he stopped dead, then sat back, taking a deep swig of his beer. Silence fell again. Ray didn’t speak as Vecchio drained his beer, just waited for him to speak. He knew from the other man’s tone what the story was going to be. It had been that kind of day, no reason it wouldn’t get worse.

 

Eventually Vecchio spoke again, this time in a voice that Ray had never heard. Not the Bookman’s voice, not the cop’s voice. Not your friendly neighbourhood paisano Vecchio, joking around and playing the grouch. Not family man Vecchio, the ‘what the hell has my sister done now’ Vecchio. Not ‘God give me strength’ Vecchio.

 

No. This sounded like kid Vecchio, even if he did speak in a man’s voice, with a man’s vocabulary. Ray wondered how long it had been since Vecchio had let the kid talk.

 

“There was this priest. I know, it sounds like a cliché. And - I don’t want you thinking they’re all like that. Just - this one was.” He rolled his empty bottle between his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, snapped them open, blinked hard. “Gimme a minute.” He leant forward, put his bottle on the table, sat back and squeezed his hands between his knees. His eyes were fixed again on his shoes. “Okay, so. It wasn’t as bad as - not as bad as what happened to Benny. I mean - he didn’t - you know.” He coughed. “He didn’t touch me like that. But he - he made me...” Vecchio trailed off. “Anyway - it wasn’t as bad as Benny’s thing.”

 

Ray doubted that. It was different, that was all. He didn’t say it though. He didn’t have the right to tell Vecchio what to feel.

 

“So, uh.” Vecchio sucked his cheeks in then blew out a gust of air. “What I mean to say is, yeah, I think Benny’ll be alright. I mean, I got over it. And Benny knows what happened now. He remembers. That helps. That’ll help him. It helped me.”

 

For a minute Ray wanted to hug the other man. He got it now, why there were so many Vecchios crowded inside that big bald head. _‘I got over it.’_ Yeah, right.

 

He didn’t hug him though. He didn’t know if that would be too much, after what Vecchio had just confided. Instead he squeezed his shoulder.

 

“Thanks for telling me. That took guts.”

 

Vecchio laughed and shook his head. “No. Today was just the day to tell it.” He sounded almost normal again - his comedy paisano impersonation.

 

“That how you guessed it was Gerrard?” Ray had been wondering. “You knew the type?” Ray knew the type too, just not as well as Vecchio and Ben, thank God.

 

“Maybe. That and I met the creep.” Vecchio’s cheek twitched. “I should have guessed then, the way Benny was - I dunno. ‘You broke my heart,’ Benny told him. He said that to Gerrard. I’ll always remember the way he said it. I thought it was because Gerrard murdered his father. Like that wasn’t enough.” His fists were on his lap now, his knuckles white. “Jesus. I want to kill the bastard.”

 

How could Ray answer that? He wanted to kill him too.

 

“You just sit there.” Ray heaved himself up off the couch. “I’ll get us a real drink.”

~*~

 

Ben woke up hungry. Ravenous, in fact. His mouth was dry, his tongue and palate stale. He rested his hand on his stomach and allowed himself to enjoy hunger. It was such a wholesome, healthy way to feel. After a little while he opened his eyes. He was in Ray’s bed. He turned his head on the pillow. He was in Ray’s bed but Ray wasn’t in it.

 

He frowned and sat up. Feeling a little light-headed he looked around the room. Was Ray avoiding him? Had the revelations of yesterday caused him to change his mind about their fledgling relationship? A queasy sense of uncleanliness washed over Ben for a moment. _No, nonsense. Not unclean._ He steadied his thoughts and breathed the feeling away. No need to be ashamed - and no need to be alarmed. Ray would scarcely blame Ben for things that had been done to him as a boy, any more than he would blame any other child. There were plenty of reasons why Ray might be absent.  For one thing, from the slant of the light through the curtains it looked as though it was late - good Lord. Ben sat bolt upright in bed. It must be past ten in the morning. No wonder Ray wasn’t in the bed. Ben was over three hours late for work. He was supposed to open the Consulate this morning. Why hadn’t Ray woken him? The Inspector was not going to be impressed.

 

_I’m going to be in so much trouble._

 

Oh.

 

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. That thought was familiar. Yesterday when he -

 

He cringed as the memory returned. He had known that he had fled the Consulate, but he’d forgotten clawing at his collar, struggling to breathe; forgotten tearing at his lanyard, yanking his tunic open. He’d forgotten the buttons skittering and clattering across the floor.

 

His cheeks and ears reddened in shame. No wonder Ray had let him sleep in. He probably wasn’t late for work at all. After yesterday’s display he must have been signed off sick. And, now that Ben thought of it, Ray would not have gone to work himself. He could scarcely leave Ben by himself after the - after the spectacle he had made of himself yesterday. Ben groaned as his mind cast around for a word to sum up the situation. It seemed his lexicon was inadequate for the task.

 

No, no it wasn’t. He had found just the right one.

 

“Shit.”

 

Well, hiding in the bedroom was not going to improve matters. He straightened his back, put his calmest face in place, and stepped out to face the music.

 

Ray was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee and reading the paper. His hair was even spikier than usual: uncombed, unkempt, and adorable. Ray yawned massively, then took a slurp of coffee. It was impossible not to smile.

 

“Good morning, Ray.”

 

Ray turned on his stool and his face lit up in a smile of his own. Not any smile - a smile like sunrise on an icefield. “Hey, good morning.” _Oh, thank God. He’s not disgusted with me._ Ben’s knees felt momentarily weak. He had known, intellectually, that Ray would at the very least not hate him - but that smile... thank God that Ray still smiled that smile at him.

 

Ray stood up, stepped forward as though to hug him, then paused. His smile faded for a moment, an uncertain expression flitting across his so expressive eyes. “Uh, how you feeling this morning?”

 

Ben rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow. It stood to reason that Ray would worry about touching him. He had, after all, just discovered that Ben was a -

 

Oh. That was interesting. He couldn’t think the words yet.

 

_Think, Benton. Admit it._

 

Of course he could think it. He was an officer. He had seen these things before and named them. He could admit this thing.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

_Rape victim._

 

He blinked his eyes open. That wasn’t as hard to admit as he’d expected.

 

“I feel surprisingly well,” he mused aloud. He did, he really did feel well. Calm even. Apart from one thing. One thing for now, anyway. He was sure that, in time, other matters would present themselves. Right now the problem was that he didn’t know how much of yesterday he should refer to. He didn’t want to upset Ray, after all, and he had already upset him enough. “I feel well,” he proceeded cautiously, “under the - ah - under the circumstances.”

 

Ray kept his eyes on him, big and luminous, his face now cautious, utterly still.

 

“You, uh - you remember the circumstances?”

 

“Yes.” Ben cleared his throat and clarified. His larynx felt suddenly swollen and hard. His throat hurt. _‘A lump in your throat.’ What an inadequate idiom._ He swallowed past the hot coal of it and spoke. Simple was always best. “I remember what Gerrard did to me.”

 

Ray made a micromovement, a flinch toward Ben, as though he wanted to hold, to touch. Stopped himself.

 

 _I need to do this,_ Ben realised. _He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that this is okay, that I want him to._ A vast gulf threatened to open up between them if he didn’t do it now.

 

Ben bridged the distance between them in one swift step, raised his hand to Ray’s face, rested his palm against his cheek.

 

“Ray,” he whispered. His thumb stroked restlessly against the sandpaper stubble of Ray’s skin. He choked again. ‘I love you’ was too big to give birth to yet. He wasn’t strong enough. He moved his lips to Ray’s mouth instead, and kissed.

 

And oh, and oh. Oh.

 

Ray kissed him back.

~*~

 

The world was beating through his head and his mouth tasted like filth.

 

_Oh Christ. Not again._

 

Ray cracked his eyes open. That was Kowalski’s coffee table, and that was his empty glass on top of it.

 

He’d just meant to have a beer or two. How the hell had a beer turned into - Ray narrowed his wobbling gaze. “Well, hell.” That looked like a bottle of Stoli. Was it still a bottle of Stoli if it was empty? Okay, philosophical questions were beyond him now. Whatever, vodka was better than bourbon. Ray knew that from experience. Clear spirits gave you less of a hangover.

 

_Unless you drink most of a bottle of the stuff on an empty stomach. What the hell was I thinking?_

 

Apparently he hadn’t been thinking.

 

He rolled onto his side, careful not to make any noise, and managed not to puke. If he hung on long enough it would recede for a couple of minutes. And then he could get to the bathroom and puke in private.

 

_God. I am such an idiot._

 

By the time he was out of the bathroom Benny and Kowalski were sitting at the breakfast bar having - huh, surprise surprise. Oatmeal for breakfast.

 

Benny’s head was down, his shoulders pulled toward his ears. It was so un-Mountie-like that it would have taken Ray a minute to even recognise Benny, if he hadn’t already known he’d be there. There was nothing that Ray could read from his friend’s hunched shoulders. Kowalski though, well he was looking a hell of a lot better than he had the night before, legs cheerfully swinging like pendulums as he swigged what was probably his sixth cup of coffee. If Benny hadn’t been doing an impression of the turtle Ray would have thought that the two of them had sorted things out. Maybe they had. They were sitting very close together, after all, elbows knocking against each other on the countertop. But Benny was looking freaked out about something.

 

Well, yeah. Stood to reason Benny would be freaking out for a while. There would be something wrong if he didn’t. Looking at him now though, Ray knew, absolutely, that Benny wasn’t broken. Yeah, he’d told Kowalski what the guy needed to hear - and he’d nearly been sure when he said it. This morning though - Ray looked at Benny and knew he was going to be fine. He should never have doubted him. Benny was so damn strong, always had been. Now that he’d faced this thing he’d be okay, wouldn’t he? Of course he would.

 

Not that Benny would ever completely ‘get over it’ whatever the hell that meant. Ray knew what he’d told Kowalski - and yeah, it was true. But yeah, it was also a load of horseshit. You couldn’t wave a magic wand and make this shit go away. But Ray _knew_ Benny. His Dad had been murdered and Benny had dragged the murdering scumbag kicking and screaming to justice. When Ray thought what else Gerrard had done to Benny he realised just how - well, how fucking _awesome_ that had been. So Benny hadn’t remembered it, and so, yeah, Gerrard had groomed him from a child to do whatever he told him. Fucker. Gerrard probably still thought his victim would roll over, would just obey him at a word. But even though Gerrard had been there for years, doing what he did and taking pictures of it, he had only ever _looked_ at Benny. Just at the outside of him, like he was nothing but a statue or a doll. He looked but he didn’t see. Because that was it, wasn’t it? Gerrard had never actually _seen_ Benny. Paedos never actually _saw_ their victims, did they? Gerrard had looked at Benny and had no clue who the man was.

 

And Benny yeah, he was scarred up by the dirty old bastard, and he hadn’t been able to remember what had happened, but _fuck._ Despite all that, he’d been relentless. He’d tracked the bastard down. He’d put him in jail. He’d avenged his father. Benny was the fucking _Terminator._

 

Ray still had a headache but he found himself grinning. So, Benny was freaked. Well, of course he was. At least he wasn’t space-manning off the planet or forgetting himself again. ‘Freaked’ was a pretty sane response after yesterday. This morning Benny was up and dressed, changed out of yesterday’s clothes and eating breakfast. He was still with Kowalski from the look of things. Things could be a hell of a lot worse. What Benny needed now was reassurance. He needed to know what Ray was still okay with him, that things didn’t have to be weird.

 

That was okay. Ray could do ‘not weird’ if he had to.

 

“Hey, Benny.” He tapped on the counter, then jerked a thumb in Kowalski’s direction. “Any coffee left or has your boyfriend drunk it all?”

 

It was worth it for the look of surprise and gratitude on Benny’s face at the word ‘boyfriend.’ _He just completely unturtled himself,_ Ray thought with satisfaction as Benny sat up and stared at him. Hell - it was worth it for that, and for the smile on Kowalski’s face.

 

“Sorry, Vecchio.” Kowalski lifted his mug in apology. “That was the last of it.”

 

Ray covered his smug grin by turning to the coffee machine and ostentatiously rattling around to prepare a fresh pot. “Figures,” he said. “Where do you keep the beans?”

 

Just like that things were normal again - or as normal as things ever were between the three of them.

 

Twelve hours ago, Ray would never have imagined it, but it really was going to be okay. Not just for Benny, for all of them.

 

The hangover wasn’t even that bad. And this wasn’t the best cup of coffee he had ever had, but right now it felt like it.

~*~

 

The first time they kissed Ray had started it, and Ben’s wooden face and rigid lips nearly shut him down before they really got started. When Ben finally did move into the kiss he’d seemed desperate, almost aggressive, like he thought if he let up Ray was going to run away.

 

Which wasn’t to say that it wasn’t the hottest first kiss Ray had ever had in his life.

 

Until today. Because this was a first kiss too. The first kiss of a new day, the first kiss when they knew they were together, the first kiss that Ben started. And it was wonderful. Ray’s knees were weak with it, with the way Ben’s hand roved across his face, up past his cheekbone and into his hair, the way he curled his fingers and cupped his head, the way he tilted them both into the kiss. Ben’s mouth was soft and exploratory, his tongue questing gently. It nudged between Ray’s lips, probed past his teeth and stroked; exquisite and patient, so sweet and soft and strong, tender and trusting and thrusting between Ray’s palate and his tongue. Ray wanted to believe what Ben’s tongue was telling him. He nearly did believe it but -

 

The image of Ben’s face in that photograph flashed behind his eyelids, and with it a nauseating horror. How could Ben know what he wanted in a relationship, if his earliest experiences with a man were so forced and abusive? Would Ben even be here if he hadn’t been groomed to respond to a man’s advances? Hell, Ben probably hadn’t even known what sex was _for_ the first time a man ever...

 

_Oh, Jesus._

 

A convulsive shudder slithered through him and Ray moved back; not far, enclosed as he was in the tight circle of Ben’s embrace. Ben moved with him, as though they were dancers, trying to close the gap. Ray pulled back again, twisting his head away, as he tried to move his mouth from Ben’s lips. “No,” he whispered, although ‘no’  was the last thing he ever wanted to say to Ben. He had lost his arousal, but not his love. He put his hands on Ben’s chest, tried to push him away. “You don’t have to do this, Ben. You need -” Ben interrupted with a frustrated grunt that Ray could feel as a gust of breath on his face. Somehow Ben had bridged the distance again. They were chest to chest. Ray could feel Ben’s heart thumping in a ragged rhythm, tangential to his own. Ben didn’t need this. Ben didn’t know _what_ he needed - how could he? What he needed was space, he needed time to think things through - he didn’t need yet another man taking advantage. He didn’t need _Ray..._

 

“Ray,” Ben growled in his ear, his voice cross and guttural. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

Ray blinked, a sharp stab of surprise breaking through his increasing panic. He drew his head back and looked at Ben. Ben as he was now, with a frustrated, flushed, fond face, the faintest shadow of a beard, tousled hair misbehaving itself for once and curling over his forehead. Ben, an adult, eyes fully focussed on Ray, clear and self aware. Not that helpless hopeless child.

 

Oh God. Ray let out a sob, then stifled it against Ben’s lips. Ben’s arms tightened around him, and Ray was dizzy with it as his own arms wrapped around his lover.

 

When they came out of the kiss they were both of them breathless and smiling. Ray leaned his head against Ben’s forehead and just rested in the moment. This perfect moment.

 

_God, how I love you._

 

Ben’s breath hitched, and Ray tensed. He’d spoken aloud.

 

Before he could withdraw though, Ben was kissing him again. Ray could hear him talking, words broken and muffled between their two mouths. It took him a moment to understand what Ben was saying - then tears came to his eyes.

 

“And I you, Ray. I, you.”

~*~

 

The days and weeks that followed were unlike any that Ben had ever experienced. On the one hand, he woke up happy most mornings. It might not sound like much, but uncomplicated happiness felt like such a luxury that he could not imagine ever taking it for granted. He would blink awake, and his chest and heart would expand. It was as though light flooded into him when he woke to remember that he and Ray were no longer singular and separate; they were an us. They were a ‘we.’

 

As had always been the case Ben would wake early.These days Ben would lie in bed for a while, warm and comfortable, rather than springing straight out of it and preparing for the day. He would open his eyes and roll on his side, fold his arm beneath his head and look across at Ray sleeping. In the early light Ray’s face was devoid of tension. The frenetic energy which fuelled him during the days would recede  innocence and peace settled on him. Ben would watch his closed eyes move and flutter beneath the lids, the flicker of expressions that he made in his dreams. Many mornings Ben was still gazing at him when Ray opened his eyes and smiled.

 

These were good mornings.

 

And yet, as his personal life flourished, growing coltishly stronger and bolder by the day, his professional life suffered. It was inevitable that Inspector Thatcher would treat him like spun glass after his spectacular breakdown. Inevitable, but unnecessary. Nothing he could do or say convinced her that he was not balancing on the edge of complete collapse. He knew that she was overcompensating; she clearly felt guilty for her initially clumsy approach, and walked on eggshells as a result. He could understand that, no matter how frustrating he found it.

 

No doubt the Inspector thought that she was doing Ben a service by giving him light duties - manning the phone, mainly, helping Turnbull organise displays for tedious functions which he was glad not to attend. _Because, obviously,_ Ben thought sourly _it would be a disaster if I fell out of my tree again in public; who knows what the Ambassador would think?_

 

And yet, light as his consular duties were for the most part, he still liaised with his Rays. Their work as a triple-pronged unit, bringing in Saxon, attracted the right kind of attention to their micro-team, and with it extra funding. Ben was certain now that his role as liaison with the Chicago PD was secure - no risk of him being reassigned back to Canada, something he had been secretly dreading. The trio continued to work cases together and sometimes, if he was honest, Ben thought that this time with his Rays was the only thing that stopped him throwing in the towel and simply walking out of work. Not that he wanted Inspector Thatcher to know that; it would just make her micromanage his time even more relentlessly.

 

So, his work days veered between the insultingly banal and the excitement of real police work. True, Ben was now kept at a remove from the ongoing Saxon investigation - he was after all a victim - but a steady stream of the man’s associates were being brought in for questioning. With each one of them a further link in the chain was broken. And, as importantly, individual victims were being found, sometimes directly rescued from abuse, and were getting the help and support that they needed. He was proud of his role in that, proud of his Rays for their continued dedication and involvement in the sharp end of the case. He worried about them though - one Ray he could hold in the night and reassure. Ray Vecchio though - he wondered how he got through the nights. Sometimes his eyes were heavy with shadow; he looked so far away and so damn tired. Ben felt helpless to help him - he couldn’t think how to support him through these episodes. It was almost as unnerving when the shadows seemed to pass. His moods seemed to have no rhyme or reason.

 

“Leave it, Ben. He’s coping.”

 

Ben was not so sure. Not knowing exactly what was happening in the case didn’t help, although he was glad enough to have some distance from new developments.

 

He was not completely dissociated from the case though. He still had a job to do, as important as anything else. And it was taking longer, far longer, than he would have liked.

 

He was meeting with RCMP investigators on the Canadian side of the investigation. Several times a week they would meet and  work together in an attempt to recreate a timeline of his abuse. The first time he managed to actually look at the photographs and see the detail - well, that was a bad day, followed by a bad night. He woke screaming again, though at least on this occasion he remembered what he was dreaming.

 

Not that it felt like a good thing at three o'clock in the morning, shaking in Ray’s arms.

It would be worth it though. It would all be worth it, if they could build the case against Gerrard. If they could only _prove_ it. If they could find his other victims, if -

 

Oh, it did no good to obsess about ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes.’ All Ben could do was what had to be done and hope for the best.

 

If only - if only it wasn’t taking so damn _long._

_~*~_

 

Kowalski was yawning massively and scratching the back of his neck. His glasses were hanging down, tucked beneath his chin. It looked odd, but endearing. Ray had been looking at Kowalski with more tolerance for his quirks since he had started going out with Benny. Right now though, he was looking at him with irritation. What the hell was he still doing at the station? He was practically asleep in his chair.

 

Okay, it was mean, but it amused him. Ray crept up quietly behind Kowalski’s chair, and tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Jesus!” Kowalski jerked to full alertness and flailed. His glasses fell off his head and landed on a heap of papers. Ray cracked up laughing.

 

“Come on, Kowalski. Time to call it quits. Go home.”

 

“I nearly finished the -”

 

“Finish it tomorrow.” Ray had already decided that he’d finish Kowalski’s paperwork for him. It gave him something to do, and besides, it would get the idiot home to Benny sooner. “What are you doing here anyway? Benny must have got home hours ago.”

 

“He called earlier. Him and Dief are running.”

 

“All the more reason to go home. He’s gonna need a bucket full of pasta after that. Go feed your man carbohydrates.”

 

Kowalski yawned again, then nodded. Ray smiled. That hadn’t taken much persuasion. “Okay, I’m going.” He paused, then turned a suspicious look at Ray. “How come you’re still here?”

 

“Just got a couple of things to hand in to Welsh,” Ray lied cheerfully. “It’s only gonna take ten minutes. It’s calzone tonight. Don’t wanna miss that.”

 

Kowalski closed his eyes with a blissful expression. “Hmmm. Your Ma’s calzone.”

 

“You and Benny should come over this week,” Ray said before he thought it through. Damn. If they came over then he’d not be able to work on the case in his spare time. Hang on... He frowned at himself. Why would he want not to invite them though? It would be nice to have Benny and Kowalski over. And it wouldn’t kill him to have an actual meal with his family for once.

 

Okay, yeah. He was busy, but he shouldn’t be too busy for his friends, should he? He could have one meal in with his friends, couldn’t he? Besides, Kowalski was grinning.

 

“Yeah, that would be great. Think your Ma will do calzone again?”

 

“For you? Of course she will. I’ll ask her when’s a good day. Probably Sunday.”

 

“Good, good. Ooh, can she do that filo pastry thing with the orangy custard.”

 

“You’re as bad as Dief. You just love her for her food.”

 

“Everyone loves your Ma for her food.” Kowalski bounced to his feet, cheerful and awake again. He looked around for his glasses and Ray fished them off the desk.

 

“Scoot.”

 

“Scooting. See you tomorrow.” Kowalski was out of the bullpen then, the doors swinging shut behind him. Ray smiled at his back, then sat down. Twilight shift. He could do it. Just another few hours.

 

He pulled Kowalski’s file to him and started to work.

~*~

 

Dinner at the Vecchio’s was good - but noisy. Ray had kinda forgotten how noisy they could actually get, and now that Frannie had added twins to the mix it was even louder. Ben had one of them asleep over his shoulder and was manfully trying to eat his dinner one-handed while Maria’s youngest climbed on his knee. He was doing reasonably well until she tried to put a bread stick into his nose. She was probably aiming at his mouth, but it didn’t look like she was the most coordinated kid in the world. At least she took after her grandmother. Yeah, a Vecchio woman through and through, feeding people whether they were expecting it or not.

 

Cute though. Unfortunately, she was now covered in partly chewed calzone and Ben was swiping it off her with horrified apologies. She responded by kneeling up and licking tomato sauce off his chin.

 

Ray looked down at his plate and failed to hide his sniggers. Ben shot him a reproachful look and pouted. Ray winked across the table at him and covered his mouth with a napkin. He’d missed this kind of thing.

 

From the sound of it, Vecchio had missed a few dinners himself. Ma spent the first half of the meal berating her son for ‘abandoning the family’ and the second half of the meal piling his plate up with salad, garlic bread and extra calzone. “Because you don’t eat, Raimondo. When do you have time to eat, the hours you work?” She turned to Ray then and started serving him up seconds.

 

“Ma, I’m fine,” he said, automatically defaulting back to referring to her with her maternal designation. She beamed at him, obviously charmed. He didn’t mind calling her Ma, it came naturally - he had been undercover as Vecchio for a year after all. And it wasn’t like he had to feel guilty about it. He called his own mother Mum. Which was weird, really. On the rare occasions Ben talked about his mother he called her ‘Mom.’ They maybe swopped the word at birth, or maybe Ben was secretly American and he was secretly Canadian. Ben was being the poster boy for Canada now. Frannie’s bambino was still asleep on his shoulder, but he had got Elly to settle and was gravely explaining to her how important calcium was and that she really should drink her milk. The freaky thing was that it worked. As Elly lay back in the crook of Ben’s arm he snagged her bottle off the table and started feeding it to her. Elly’s eyes were drifting shut, despite the family noise. Ben was smiling down at her.

 

So, that was two kids he’d gotten to fall asleep. Which meant there were two grateful Moms at the table - Maria who put her hands together and made a prayerful glance to heaven, as though thanking God for his bounty. That was a real Vecchio trick. Her brother did it too. Ray was never sure if it was joke - he wouldn’t blame her for thanking God for the kid shutting up. Frannie was bouncing the other twin on her knee, but from the look of her she really needed the kids to stop crying. She looked nearly as tired as Vecchio these days.

 

Ray frowned. Thinking about it, Vecchio really did look shattered. And from Ma’s comments he’d been working nights, which given how much he told Ray off for any extra hours was a bit of a cheek really.

 

“So,” he asked. “How long is it since you got to sit down for dinner, Raimondo?” He kept his tongue in cheek for that one. He didn’t know why it tickled him that they both used the same name, and that both of them had parents who embarrassed them with alternatives. Vecchio shot him a look of betrayal at the question, but before he could get in there and spin an excuse Ma jumped in, just as Ray had intended.

 

“A month,” she declared. “No no, I lie. More than a month. Ever since that horrible case started.” She moved briskly on from the ‘horrible case’ because it was not a subject suited for the dinner table and besides, she wouldn’t want the kids to know about it. “I don’t know how you boys don’t starve to death, the hours you keep.”

 

Ben was looking across the table now, watching Vecchio with a questioning expression on his face. Not quite a frown, but Ray could read Ben’s subtlest expressions as clear as a book. He was worried about Vecchio.

 

So was Ray. Ever since the night they found Ben in the woods Ray had been a little more observant of his partner’s moods. Not that he hadn’t observed them before (it helped to know ahead of time if Armando was about to make an appearance) but he thought he understood Vecchio a bit better now. This case was hard on everybody. Maybe Vecchio could step back a bit, get some sleep. He looked like he needed it.

 

“We’re okay,” Ray interjected smoothly. “I know we’re busy, but we look after each other.” Vecchio raised an eyebrow and looked amused. Ray could almost hear him thinking ‘yeah, I know how well you and Benny look after each other.’ The guy still seemed tickled pink that Ben and Ray were together - and that sure as hell wasn’t something Ray had seen coming. Not that Ma knew anything about it. Frannie had maybe figured it out, but she was all about the babies these days - which was good news. Good for the babies who had the full focus of her love, and great for Benny who could now breathe when she was in the room.

 

“Well,” Frannie smiled as she gathered her sleeping baby from Ben’s shoulder. “I’m glad you look after each other. Especially you two.” She gestured with her free hand pointing first at Ray then at Vecchio. “I remember when I thought you were going to kill each other.”

 

“Those days are gone, Sis,” Vecchio replied, leaning back in his chair and resting a hand on his no doubt happy tummy. “Not to say I’m not gonna kick him in the head one day, but that’s just guys being guys.”

 

Frannie rolled her eyes. “You don’t see Benton behaving like that,” she protested, “and _he’s_ a guy.”

 

“Benton,” Ma interrupted. “Have you met anyone yet? There must be a nice girl out there for you somewhere.”

 

Ben blushed and tugged on his collar - not his uniform collar, his shirt collar, but Ray still grinned at the familiarity of the gesture. “I’m, uh, not as such -”

 

Ray glared at him across the table. _‘Not as such?’_ he mouthed. Ben blushed harder.

 

“Well, that is to say, not at all. I’m - uhm - I’m not looking for a woman.”

 

“Yeah, Ma.” Frannie piped up. “Benton’s fine. He doesn’t need a woman.” She gave a swift and furtive glance at Ray, then smiled. _Oh crap, she knows._ “He’s got everything he needs right here.”

 

Okay, that was the sweetest thing Frannie had ever said. It was terrifying. Ray looked across at Vecchio. He was sitting there with his mouth wide open. Frannie caught his eye and tapped the bottom of her chin. He snapped his mouth shut and looked at Ray, then at an unphased Ben, and raised his eyebrows in an eloquent ‘what the fuck’ expression.

 

“Uh, Ma,” he broke in, to provide a distraction. “Kowalski asked for - and I quote ‘does your Ma have any of those filo pastry orangey custardy slices of heaven.’”

 

Well, that definitely distracted her. Ma bustled off into the kitchen and returned with - well, okay. It was a fair description. Slices of heaven.

 

It had to be said, this was the best meal Ray had had in _months._

~*~

 

“Well, that was interesting.” Ray was, not to put too fine a point on it, sauntering as he and Ben finally made their way home for the night. The car was parked halfway down and across the street, but he seemed in no hurry to get in. Neither was Ben. It was a crisp night, the kind that would scatter a veil of stars over the world if not for the light pollution. Ben looked up. It was still possible to see the larger planets, the more dramatic constellations. Orion was appearing from behind the Vecchio household. He pondered the symbolism. His Grandmother had taught him the meanings attributed to the stars, as a mnemonic device more than anything, the better to find his way at night time. It was her nature to have a pragmatic reason to share any fact. She had never been in the least superstitious and would have chided Ben for his current wistful imaginings. But there was Orion all the same, a companion from his childhood, even here, so many miles away. He wondered if the warrior constellation was a guard standing at the Vecchio family’s back. Or maybe the figure was a representation of the policeman who inhabited the building. He shook his head at his anthropomorphic romanticism. He was fairly sure that the disposition of the stars was not the interesting matter to which Ray alluded.

 

“What was interesting?” Ben could think of a number of things that might be described as such, not all of them positive.

 

“Frannie,” Ray said, and leaned against the GTO, stared back at the house. “I didn’t know she knew about us.” He quirked Ben a mischievous grin. “You weren’t surprised though. Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

 

“Oh.” Ben blinked. “Well, to be honest, I assumed you already did.”

 

“Why would I know?”

 

Ben tugged his ear. He didn't know how to tell Ray that it was obvious from Francesca’s behaviour without appearing to insult his intelligence. The fact is that, these last few weeks, Frannie had given every indication that she had ‘got over’ Ben. From acute little glances and comments he could tell that she had added up the evidence with surprising precision. She didn’t seem heartbroken - in fact, she seemed relieved more than anything. She could let go of the ‘sheer feminine tonnage’ she had once complained about. It might have been different if the object of his affections had been a woman, but regardless; Ben was relieved that she had given up on her fantasies, and equally relieved that she was still a friend.

 

“Don’t worry, I get it.” Ray patted his shoulder. “You just pay more attention to the mysteries of the Frannie than I do.”

 

Ben opened his mouth to protest and Ray laughed.

 

“Come on. You can admit it. You had a bit of a thing for Frannie.”

 

“Excuse me?” Ben’s voice squeaked in a most embarrassing fashion and he blushed. Unfortunately, they were standing directly under a streetlamp, so Ray could see the heat spreading across Ben’s cheeks.

 

“I knew it!” Ray crowed. “I knew you had the hots for her.”

 

“I did not -” Ben blustered, although it’s not entirely true. It didn’t matter if he’d had - as Ray so eloquently put it - ‘the hots’ for Frannie or not. For one thing, their characters were utterly unsuited to a romantic relationship - Ben was sure that he would have been climbing Frannie’s lace curtains and trying to flee the room within ten minutes of consummation - for another, her brother would have been horribly conflicted. _He wouldn’t know which one of us to kill first._ Ben giggled at the thought, then rubbed his eyebrow, surprised at the sound. _Oh dear._

 

Ray gave a half sly, half smug look. “You see? I know you. Anyway, I kinda had the hots for her too.”

 

Ben stared at him, outraged. “But you were undercover as her brother!”

 

“Just as well. I’d be a Vecchio for real if I’d married into the family.”

 

“You’d have married her?” Ben’s voice squeaked again.

 

“What, you think I’m shallow?” Ray ws still laughing and Ben scowled unconvincingly. “Here, have the keys.” Ben snatched them out of the air as Ray tossed them at him. “I’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

 

“You think?” Ben stalked around the car.

 

“Ooh, snippy Mountie. You’re down to two syllables.”

 

They slid into their places and Ben turned in his seat. Ray was still grinning: Ben felt his own answering smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Silly Ray.” he leaned forward and dropped a light kiss on his lips. It was all he dared in semi-public - in fact it was a risk in any case - but he couldn’t have Ray start brooding and thinking that he was truly cross. “Come home and come to bed.”

 

Ben put Ray to bed with a glass of water and an aspirin. Ray pretended to be disappointed, though he was probably more sleepy than he admitted.

 

“What, no nooky?” he teased. “Awh, Ben, you _are_ cross.”

 

“No, just full of calzone.”

 

“Hehe. I get it. Don’t wanna burst like a piñata - hang on, that’s Spanish, not Italian - never mind. That’s okay. I don’t want you to burst either. Night night, Ben.”

 

Ben smiled and kissed his forehead as he tucked him in. “Goodnight.” Ray made contented noises and wriggled into a comfortable position, tucking his hands under his head. Fraser watched him for a little longer, then touched his fingers to his mouth, rested them on Ray’s forehead. “Sleep well,” he whispered, and moved lightly out of the room.

 

He was joined in the kitchen by Dief, who was looking dolefully at the bags of leftovers.

 

“They’re doggy bags, not wolf bags.”

 

A hopeful whine and a wagging tail.

 

“Oh, now you acknowledge your canine heritage.”

 

Dief tilted his head, fixing big sad eyes on him. He might as well be saying _‘please?’_

 

“You can have some for breakfast. So stop looking tragic, it doesn’t work on me.”

 

Dief kept his head tilted at that plaintive angle, as much as to say ‘yes it does.’ Ben shrugged, conceded defeat and put a portion of meatballs on the kitchen floor. Dief shoved his muzzle in the contents, so urgent in his pursuit of his meal that the tub started skittering across the floor. He chased it across the kitchen, nose still buried in meat and gravy, his tail wagging furiously. Ben took Dief’s distraction as the most opportune moment to stack the leftovers safely in the fridge. “Don’t blame me if you’re up all night farting.”

 

Dief’s ears twitched and he turned his head, as though surprised.

 

Hmm. Maybe his Rays were correct and Dief wasn’t as deaf as he claimed. There was no getting away from the fact that he was looking surprised.

 

“It’s a perfectly acceptable part of the Anglo Saxon lexicon,” Ben informed him. “Your own vocabulary is less than salubrious at times.” Dief tossed his head, licked his lips clean (good Lord, how fast had he _eaten_ those meatballs?) and trotted into the bedroom. There was a muffled ‘whumph’ as he bounded on the bed, and some muttering from Ray.

 

Ah well. They were happy enough.

 

Ben settled on the couch with a glass of water propped on his knee. He was happy too, for the most part. He closed his eyes and rested back for a moment getting comfortable. _‘Post prandial satisfaction,’_ that was the technical term. The contentment that follows a good meal. His body was certainly happy these days, and a happy body led to a happy mind.

 

He did worry though. For all his ostentatious displays of good cheer, Ben didn’t think his other Ray was happy. His mother’s complaints that he hadn’t been home for dinner in some time, combined with the shadows under his eyes, suggested that he was working too hard, not looking after himself. And while Ray Kowalski had drunk enough to be merry, Ray Vecchio had been quietly drinking more than was his wont and not showing the effects at all. Nobody else seemed to have noticed it, but Ben was sensitive to these matters. It was concerning. He had never known Ray to be much of a drinker at all, one more reason (had any been needed) that he had felt guilty on that humiliating morning, the day after his breakdown. It still disturbed him that he had upset his friend so much that he resorted to vodka. He knew that it was neither of their faults but still: it raised unpleasant memories of his father’s own struggle with drink, in the years following his and Ben’s bereavement.

 

Perhaps he was overthinking things. It would not be the first time. And his father had pulled himself together. Buried himself in work, yes, but at least he’d won the battle with the bottle.

 

Perhaps. The fact remained: something was upsetting his friend. Ben would have thought it was the continuing Saxon case, but there seemed to be something else behind it. His Ray, although often disturbed by it, seemed to be coping far better. Was it Vegas? Was it something else? Sometimes he felt his Rays were keeping something from him - nothing to do with Ben, fortunately, but something all the same. He sensed there had been some confidence shared between them. On the two occasions that Ben had raised the issue one Ray responded with ‘don’t ask, Ben,’ and the other, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Benny. What goes on in that head of yours?’

 

Ben drained his water and wished he could pinpoint the problem. _‘If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.’_ His grandmother’s voice in his head again. Her Protestant work ethic had served him well, but he wished at times he was less driven. More like his peaceful contemplative Grandfather, happy to dwell in the moment, to enjoy his obsessions. Music, sky and land, books, always. He had softened Grandmother’s sharp edges, made her smile.

 

Smiling himself, Ben stood, returned to the kitchen and washed his glass. If he slept on it then things might be clearer in the morning.

 

Or not. His smile faded. The fact was, Ben still had no clue how to help.

~*~

 

Ray had been at his desk for a couple of hours when Kowalski walked in.

 

“Hey, Kowalski.” He twirled his pen in his hand and leaned back. “I was gonna get coffee. You want coffee?”

 

Kowalski grunted an affirmative and Ray nodded. Of course he wanted coffee. He wouldn’t be human ’til he’d got more caffeine in him. And Ray needed a pint of the stuff. _At least Frannie fixed the coffee machines here while I was away,_ he thought as he went to get some. _When she gets back from maternity leave Welsh should let her loose on the snack machine._

 

When he got back to his desk Kowalski was sitting on his chair, frowning over Ray’s files.

 

“How long you been here?” Kowalski’s voice was casual. Ray didn’t trust it. That was the casual voice Kowalski sometimes used in interviews.

 

“Maybe twenty minutes.” Ray handed Kowalski the coffee. “And get your skinny butt out of my chair.”

 

Kowalski stood, coffee in one hand, summaries of evidence in the other.

 

“Right.” He took a swig of his coffee and closed his eyes briefly. Yeah, that was a man who loved his coffee, no doubt about it. “Funny. There must be eight new pages here. I thought Ben was the only person who could type that fast.”

 

Ray plonked himself in his chair and made a ‘gimme’ gesture with his hand, reaching out for his file. If he didn’t reply maybe Kowalski would let it go. Still frowning Kowalski handed the file back.

 

“What time did you really get in?”

 

“Jeez,” Ray scowled down at the report and tried to read it. Hard to do with Kowalski burning a hole in his head.

 

“Well?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ray snapped. “Can you let me finish writing this report?”

 

“Okay.” Kowalski did not look happy. “And after that, we talk.”

 

_Wonderful, Kowalski’s not gonna let this go._

 

Whatever, he still needed to finish this report. If he kept his head down maybe Kowalski would forget about it. And if he didn’t he’d just have to tell him to go to hell.

~*~

 

 _How did I not see this?_ Ray chastised himself. _Vecchio’s gonna go to pieces if he carries on like this._ There were only so many times he could put up with a partner going completely off the rails. He wasn’t sure what Vecchio having a breakdown would look like. It would probably involve a Glock in the middle of the bullpen.

 

 _Don’t be stupid, if Vecchio cracks up he’s only going to hurt himself._ Ray didn’t know what went down in Vegas, and he didn’t want to. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And it wasn’t like Vecchio hadn’t had enough demons to start off with.

 

Ray kept an eye on his partner while they worked. He tried to be discreet, but Vecchio wasn’t born yesterday; he kept shooting him dirty looks. After an hour and a half Vecchio slammed the file shut and got up to hand it in to Welsh. This stuff was sensitive, they couldn’t leave it hanging around in their outboxes until they had time to hand it in to the other investigators. Ray watched him go into the Lieutenant’s office. Once the door was shut he got to his feet and shrugged into his jacket, snagged Vecchio’s coat off the back of his chair. _Guy must be off his game. He hasn’t even hung it up on a hook._

 

“Hey, jackass,” he called across as his partner stepped out of the office. “I’m calling a fast food break.”

 

“It’s a bit early for that,” Vecchio grumbled as he crossed the bullpen.

 

“Not for you,” Ray pointed out. “You must be due for a break. And I bet you didn’t eat breakfast.”

 

“What are you, my mother?”

 

“Nah, but I can call her for back up if you don’t eat something.” He pointed at Vecchio. “You don’t want to break your mother's heart.” He smirked. “You know I’ll do it.”

 

Vecchio narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning, Kowalski?”

 

“Chicken on rye bread. Or maybe a burger. Not decided yet.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Look, just get out of here. We can talk about the case as we drive.”

 

Vecchio looked as suspicious as Ray had ever seen him, but conceded defeat as Ray lied cheerfully. “Besides. We all know you got no heart.”

 

It wasn't much of a joke, but it worked. Vecchio gave a slight smile - not like he necessarily believed him, but at least like he wasn’t going to bite his head off.

 

It was a start.

 

“Burger,” Ray stated as they stepped through the swing doors to the corridor beyond. “That’s what I want. And curly fries and milkshake.”

 

“What are you, six?”

 

“Probably,” Ray conceded. “Why be a grown up anyway? It’s overrated.”

 

Vecchio let out an unexpected laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted ruefully. “Yeah, that it is.”

~*~

 

Ben rested his elbows on the table and pressed his fingers against his temples. As often happened during these proceedings he was getting a headache.

 

“Are you alright, Constable?” Doctor Marshall, the mandated psychiatrist who sat in during the interviews was looking at him with concern. She and the two detectives were all female - a statistical improbability since the RCMP was not as progressive as his Rays thought it was. He assumed that a decision had been made that he would find women less triggering. _They don’t know Inspector Thatcher,_ he thought, wryly.

 

On the other side of the table the women sat back slightly and glanced at each other. Mullen, the ranking officer, nodded at Marshall and Brown in a manner to which Ben had become accustomed. Privately he translated the gesture as ‘Let’s take a break, before the witness starts howling at the ceiling.’ Ben resisted his first impulse, which was to snap at them and point out that, past events not withstanding, he was not a _complete_ lunatic. He doubted that would help his cause. Instead he leaned back and sighed.

 

“I’m sorry. As I’m sure you can imagine, this is difficult.” He pushed away the most recent photograph that they had showed him and resisted the urge to stand up and turn his back. The pictures had been arranged into a timeline and the detectives had been questioning him for nearly half an hour. He knew by now that this was about his limit. He would have preferred to just get on with it, get it over with, but the headache would just get worse, and with it his nerves. He was coping with this better than he had initially feared, but he was learning his limits. He needed to gather himself. Because -

 

Well, because there he was in black and white, a child, performing an act no child should perform. The more disturbing details had been mercifully redacted: a black rectangle had been superimposed over the man’s organ and the lower part of his own face where - Ben coughed, a reflexive choking sensation, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He wished he hadn’t seen his eyes in that picture. In any of them, in fact. He wished they would obscure the expressions in them - cover all the expressions with neat black rectangles. He wouldn’t have had to see the hurt, scared, angry or despairing eyes of his younger self, nor the knowing and direct gaze of these later ones. He had performed for his audience, knowing the kind of expressions that most pleased Gerrard. Ben had seen that false look of arousal on sex workers. He supposed he was lucky not to have lived in a city, where Gerrard could have pimped him out more extensively. In that scenario there was every chance that Ben would have ended up on the street selling himself, in which case he might not even be alive today.

 

_Don’t think about what could have happened. Think about what will happen. Gerrard will be tried for this. He will name his accomplices. There will be justice._

 

He shut his eyes. He had been telling himself that for weeks. It didn’t feel like justice was any closer today than it had been a month ago.

 

“Would you like a cup of tea, Constable?” Brown was standing now, a weary look on her face. Of course, the investigation was tiring for everyone.

 

“Yes, tea would be welcome.”  

 

The tea settled him, and too soon they returned to examining the evidence. Ben stared back down at the photograph.

 

All Ben knew of this particular picture was what they had told him: that he was twelve, and that two men had been involved - one partially in the photograph, a hairy thigh on show, the other behind the camera. The photographer, judging from the composition, was Gerrard. He certainly knew how to pose a scene and frame a shot. No doubt he had considered himself an artist. Ben remembered the pains he had taken on numerous occasions to get the picture just right. _Not like that, lie back Ben. Bend your knee up, drop it to the side. Yes, like that. Okay, hold yourself - that’s good. Now, open your mouth..._

 

Ben shuddered. Despite the echoes crowding in his head, he could not remember the occasion of this particular photo at all.

 

It had not been a welcome discovery, the realisation that Gerrard had not been the only one. Ben did, however, know that this stage of his abuse had not lasted long. Shortly after this photograph, the series came to an abrupt end.

 

Perhaps he had become too old to warrant their attention anymore. He frowned. In that case he could just have been passed on to someone who liked older boys. Even in the sparsely populated areas he had grown up in there were the kinds of people who would enjoy a properly broken in prepubescent boy. So, no. There was some other reason.

 

The headache was still growing behind his eyes.  

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know we’ve only just started back, but can I step outside for a moment?” At least he had learned how to tell people when he was in difficulty. “I need some fresh air.”

 

“Of course, Constable. I’m sorry that this is taking so long.”

 

Ben nodded. He knew it was not her fault. “It’s just -” he blurted out, then stopped.

 

“Just what, Ben?” Doctor Marshall probed in that infuriatingly gentle manner that he found so condescending.

 

Well, it wasn’t her fault that she annoyed him. He knew perfectly well that this was just projection and transference of his own anxieties.

 

“It’s just that we have been doing this for the last forty seven days and seem to be no further to bringing Gerrard to justice.” He felt his jaw clenching, felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. _Breathe,_ he thought. _Do not lose your temper._

 

“If it helps, Constable,” Mullen spoke up again, “your testimony is helping us build a picture of -”

 

“I’m sick of pictures.” Ben’s voice cracked - oh, that was surprising. He sounded angry, even though he didn’t particularly feel it. He bit his tongue.

 

“Ben,” Brown was speaking now. She was a middle-aged Inuk who reminded him of June and Innusiq’s mother. Of the three women in the room, she was the one who annoyed him least. “We do have some evidence tying Gerrard to this.”

 

“Besides the word of an unreliable, traumatised and possibly defective witness?”

 

Oh dear. There was no getting away from the fact that he was sounding bitter.

 

Mullen glanced at Brown and shook her head. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it yet.” Ben hoped that the older woman wasn’t going to be reprimanded for stepping out of line. Mullen sighed. “But it seems only fair after everything you’ve done to help us. Detective Brown is right, we do have some evidence.”

 

Hope flared in Ben’s chest. “You do?”

 

“Yes. Not much, and we are trying to gather more, to make the case against Gerrard ironclad, but we do have a partial thumb print. And the fact that Gerrard was posted to the local detachment is suggestive.”

 

Ben deflated. “Suggestive?” A partial print was enough for the investigators to be sure, under the circumstances, but not enough for a jury. “I see.”

 

“Constable, there will be other evidence.”

Ben nodded. “Perhaps.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, I need to -” he swallowed. “Can we postpone this? I’m not feeling well.”

 

“Of course,” Doctor Marshall soothed. “We’ll go at your own pace.”

 

“We’ve covered a lot of ground,” Mullen reassured him. “We can pick this up later in the week.”

 

“When you’re feeling better,” Brown added.

 

Ben nodded, mute. Sometimes, on a dark day, it felt as though he was never going to get better.

 

For the first time since the involvment of the National Child Exploitation Coordination Centre he requested sick leave. He knew that it would confirm the Inspector’s reservations as to his fitness for duty, but frankly, today he could not bring himself to care.

~*~

 

Despite Kowalski’s statement in the bullpen they did not discuss the case on the ride to the restaurant.

 

 _Oh. Right, not a restaurant._ Ray should have seen this coming. A diner. In point of fact, the very diner where Kowalski had first confided that he loved Ben.

 

Ray raised his eyes to heaven. Point to Kowalski. He knew why the guy had chosen this particular establishment. He was gonna use the place’s connotations in an attempt to get Ray to open. _Who’d a thought Kowalski and I would have places to eat with personal history._ For a moment Ray was amused. _Jeez, we know each other too well._

 

Kowalski shot him a curious look as they parked up. Yeah, figured the guy would be puzzled.  Ray had been sulking all morning. Maybe it was time for him to act like a regular cop on his lunch break. He was not in a mood to open up, and ‘acting normal might deflect Kowalski. Guy should consider himself lucky - if Ray ever did open up his partner would run a mile.

 

As Ray had suspected he might, Kowalski walked to the corner booth at the back. For a moment Ray wondered if his partner was going to crowd him up against the window, as he had done - what - four and a half weeks ago? Intrigued by the idea (what would Kowalski’s strong man act look like?) he slid into the seat Kowalski had occupied back then. He was almost disappointed when Kowalski dropped onto the seat opposite and picked up the menu. Stood to reason that the guy wouldn’t do anything so obvious. Shame, Ray would have enjoyed the confrontation, even if it might have got them banned. He looked over to the counter. There was the same server as last time. She was trying not to look at them. Poor girl looked nervous. Ray smirked. He didn’t know why that was funny.

 

“Okay, Kowalski.” Ray went on the offensive. “Enough with the amateur psychology. I get it. This is where I’m supposed to tell you what’s been eating me, and you’re supposed to ride to the rescue.”

 

Kowalski opened his mouth as though to protest his innocence, then looked down at the menu with an embarrassed grin. “Nah, it’s where I’m supposed to say ‘damn, Vecchio’s too good for me. Alas.’”

 

“‘Alas?’ What kind of word is that?”

 

“A perfectly fine word,” Kowalski teased. _Okay, he’s channeling Fraser. Maybe I am distracting him._

 

Ray lifted his menu and pretended to study it, although there wasn’t much to study. “Just to be clear, I am too good for you. Don’t play a player. You know it.”

 

“Fuck off, Vecchio,” Kowalski said without heat. “I already know what’s eating you.”

 

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

 

“You’re working too hard. Trying to avenge Benny. Newsflash. It’s not gonna work if you burn yourself out.”

 

“I am not burning out.”

 

“Well, what do you call it?” Kowalski frowned and pushed his menu to the side. “I didn’t see it ‘til yesterday, when you were in - I dunno what you call ‘em. Huh, for you, civvies.” His brow furrowed. “How much weight you lost anyway?”

 

“Excuse me?” Ray glared at him, outraged, then remembered the waitress and dialled it down. “I’ve not lost weight.” He shouldn’t have changed out of his suit yesterday, but what was he meant to do with all those kids having food fights? Tomato sauce was a bitch to get out.

 

“Yeah, you’ve lost weight.” Kowalski tapped Ray’s menu, still in his left hand. “Come on, pick something already.”

 

“You’re as bad as Ma,” Ray grumbled, in an attempt to diffuse the situation and move the conversation to safer waters. Might as well order something substantial. If he made a show of pigging out it might reassure Kowalski. Besides, now he thought of it he really was hungry.

 

Kowalski twisted in his seat and waved to attract the waitress’ attention. She came over with a slightly nervous smile on her face. “You ready to order?”

 

“Yeah, burger with all the trimmings, plus loaded fries, with bacon.” Kowalski raised a challenging eyebrow at Ray. “So,” he said. “It was good.”

 

“And he’ll have a chocolate milkshake,” Ray added. “He’s been a good boy, deserves a treat.” Kowalski rolled his eyes, then nodded.

 

“Yeah, why not?” He pointed the index fingers of both hands at Ray. “He’ll have one too. Needs fattening up.”

 

Ray shrugged. “And I’ll start with the meatloaf, mash and veggies on the side.”

 

“Which vegetables, Sir?”

 

“All of ’em.”

 

“And coffee.”

 

“Lots and lots of coffee.”

 

“All the coffee.”

 

She gave a more genuine smile as she wrote down their order. “Coffee’s on the way.”

 

“Thank God,” Kowalski yawned. How could he still be tired? They’d been at work long enough. _Benny probably kept him up all  night._ Ray covered his smirk by watching the waitress go to the kitchen. Kowalski would probably think he was ogling her legs. To be fair, they were great legs.

 

“Great legs,” he mused aloud, then turned back to Kowalski. “Not that she’d go for me anyway. You know she probably thinks we’re a couple.”

 

Kowalski cracked up. “Yeah, probably. We argue like an old married couple.”

 

“Who are you calling old?”

 

“Shouldn’t have lost your hair, Raimondo.”

 

“Says the man who dyes his. You’re probably grey under that.”

 

Kowalski flapped his hand in a ‘who knows’ gesture. “Got no idea, I been colouring it since I was a teenager.”

 

“I shoulda guessed.”

 

They paused for a moment as the waitress brought their drinks. When they were alone and Ray was halfway through his mug of excellent coffee, Kowalski started in again.

“So, I get it. The case is getting to you.”

 

Ray plonked his cup down and glared across the table. “Don’t tell me the case isn’t getting to you too.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m eating and sleeping, and I’m not working myself to death.”

 

“Neither am I! And it’s easier for you. You got someone to go home too.” _Shit, I shouldn’t have said that._ Kowalski’s eyes sharpened.

 

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess you get lonely.”

 

“No,” Ray growled. “You’ve met my family, you couldn’t be lonely if you tried.”

 

“I said ‘lonely’, not alone. Besides, you’re never home.”

 

“Look, leave it, will you? I’m fine.”

 

“Okay, leaving it.” Kowalski looked over his shoulder. “Oh, good, here comes lunch.”

 

“Thanks,” Ray looked up at the waitress, then down at his plate. Jeez, that was a lot of food. “This looks like a Benny kind of meal,” he pointed out as the waitress left. Kowalski took the proffered olive branch.

 

“Yeah. Not very Italian though.”

 

“I don’t just eat pasta.”

 

“No, there’s risotto and polenta as well.”

 

“You’re just jealous of Ma’s cooking.”

 

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

 

Ray nodded and ostentatiously dug into his meatloaf. “This ain’t bad,” he declared. It wasn’t either. He didn’t enjoy it as much as he would have done if he hadn’t fallen for Kowalski’s good cop routine. It made him feel vulnerable.

 

At least Kowalski had the decency to talk about other things though. After a while, Ray could almost forget what an idiot he was.

 

Almost.

~*~

 

Ben had gone for a long run with Dief, had a shower and drank about a litre of milk. He had succeeded in physically wearing himself out, which had been the intention. It hadn’t helped where he most needed it though. He needed to be tired enough to rest, but although he was tired the thoughts and images continued to swirl around his mind. He usually felt like this in the aftermath of the interviews, but this felt more intense than usual, as though he was on the verge of some discovery. _Well, I’ll try not have a fugue episode this time._ The contemptuous self derision wasn’t amusing, but he couldn’t help himself. Not self derision, self contempt. He felt unclean for the first time since his Rays had saved him.

 

Another shower would not help, he informed himself.

 

He had one anyway.

 

When Ray came back from work Ben was lying in the bedroom, on top of the covers, one arm folded over his eyes. The curtains were drawn, but the room was still too bright. He had taken his painkillers, but he really didn’t want to move. The headache pills were a recent prescription, one which Ray had insisted he fill. Ben had not previously resorted to them, but today he was grateful that Ray had been so adamant. The headache was receding, if slowly.

 

Unfortunately, he was _still_ thinking. He groaned.

 

“Ben?” The bedroom door opened and Ben cursed himself for having drawn attention to his condition. If only Ray had been twenty minutes later, the headache might have passed.

 

“Hello, Ray.” With the best will in the world, he could not make his voice sound anything other than dull. “How was your day?”

 

The bed dipped as Ray sat on the edge.

 

“Fine.” He was silent for a moment, then asked, cautiously. “Uh, I guess the question is, how was _your_ day?”

 

“Difficult.” Ben had learned that lying to Ray was a fool’s errand.

 

“Seen those guys from the NCC again?”

 

“NCECC. And yes.”    

 

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You want a back rub?”

 

For a moment Ben considered it. Ray’s back rubs helped tremendously.

 

 _No._ “Not right now,” Ben mumbled. He would not, in a million years, tell Ray the reason he rejected the offer. He could hardly tell himself. Today, for the first time since they had been together, Ben was afraid of touch. He knew he was safe, he knew his abuse was decades ago, he knew with every fibre of his being that Ray would never hurt him.

 

But the truth was, he couldn’t expose his back; the visceral memory of unwelcome hands moving lower was too raw. He couldn’t roll over, not even for Ray.

~*~

 

Ray and Vecchio had worked past quitting time. Part of it was a game of chicken - as if by staying longer he might shame Vecchio into going home.

 

 _That’s a stupid plan,_ Ray acknowledged to himself. Vecchio was quite capable of playing chicken too. _Fuck it._ Ray scraped his chair back.

 

 _“_ You’re coming over for pizza tonight,” he stated, pointing at Vecchio.

 

“I am?” Vecchio sounded surly. “You were over at mine yesterday. Aren’t you sick of me yet?”

 

“No,” Ray declared, although if Vecchio stayed in this mood it would get old fast. “It’d be nice to see you without all the noise. We’ll watch the game.”

 

“Who’s playing?”

 

“Now I know you need pizza. You should know that, Vecchio.”

 

“Are you gonna be an Italian mother all night?”

 

“Nah, a Polish one. Come on. You know you want to. Besides, Ben worries about you.”

 

Vecchio narrowed his eyes, but Ray already knew he’d won. Okay, it was a mean trick, pulling the Benny card on Vecchio, but the guy would do anything for him, pretty much.

 

“You don’t want him worrying, do you?”

 

“Alright, Stanley.” Vecchio sulked. “I’ll be over for the game.”

 

“Don’t sound so pleased about it.” Ray shrugged into his coat. “And don’t be late,” he called over his shoulder, “or we’ll feed your pizza to Dief.”

 

“Fine. No pineapple.”

 

“Pineapple’s the best part.”

 

“Heathen,” Vecchio grumbled, though he was smiling as he put a new sheet of paper in the typewriter. Ray left in a good mood, thinking ‘they really need to get us more computers. We can’t all type like Ben.’ He couldn’t, and Vecchio was as bad. Probably cost the department hundreds in white-out.

 

At least he’d persuaded Vecchio to come over for a break tonight.

 

Ray’s good mood lasted until he got home and saw Ben.

 

Shit.

~*~

 

Ray picked up some beer and soda on the way to Kowalski’s place. _His and Benny’s now._ It was a weird thought - a welcome one too. About time Benny moved out of the Consulate. When Ray discovered where Benny had been living he’d blown a gasket.

 

“I don’t understand the problem,” Benny had said, puzzled. “You didn’t like Racine, you have to admit this is safer.”

 

“You’re sleeping in your office! What the hell, Benny?” He’d glared at Kowalski like it was his fault. “This what you call looking after your partner, Stanley? He’s homeless and you let it happen!”

 

That was before he and Kowalski had called a truce, and even longer before they could call themselves friends. Funny how things changed. He actually liked the spikey haired scarecrow these days, even if he was a nosey bastard. _Yeah, so what if he’s nosey? His heart’s in the right place._ And despite his slip up at lunch today Ray was pretty sure he could get the guy to back off and stop worrying. _There’s nothing for him to worry about anyway. So I’ve been pulling extra shifts._ It wasn’t like it was the end of the world.

 

Kowalski took a while to open the door. Ray frowned at him. “What’s up? You look like shit.”

 

Kowalski didn’t banter back. Ray would have expected at least a ‘fuck you’ to that comment. “No, seriously, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, uh - sorry. We’re kinda...” he trailed off. “I know I said pizza tonight, but can we do it another time?”

 

Ray pushed past Kowalski. “What’s wrong with Benny?”

 

“Uh...”

 

Yeah, he’d called it. Kowalski wouldn’t be this worried if something wasn’t up. Dief was lying on the couch, looking miserable, and Benny was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Where is he?” Ray’s voice was sharp: Kowalski raised a finger to his lips.

 

“Shush.” His voice was low. “He’s asleep.”

 

Ray stared at him. “Look, I know he goes to bed early, but this is crazy early even for him. What happened?”

 

“He had a bad day, that’s all. Took a sleeping tablet.”

 

“He did what?” Ray was - well, he was astonished. “You sure?”

 

“Yeah.” Kowalski sounded defensive. “I mean, I had to practically force him, but no way he’d have calmed down otherwise. He was, uh, being interviewed about the - you know.”

 

Those damn photos. Ray closed his eyes.

 

“Like I say, sorry to have to cancel, but -”

 

“Cancel?” Ray dumped his offerings on the coffee table. “I brought beer.”

 

“I can see that.”

 

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Kowalski was silent for a moment, eyes narrow as he measured Ray up. Eventually he nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re staying.” He gestured at the couch. “You can sit with Dief and get covered in wolf hair, or you can sit in the armchair and hurt your back because the springs are even worse than the couch.”

 

Ray looked at Dief. Dief looked at Ray and gave one sad wag of his tail.

 

Damn it. The wolf was as bad as Benny with the tragic eyes.

 

“Scoot up, Dief.”

 

Dief rose, turned in circles, then dropped in a huddle, leaving Kowalski room on the other end of the couch. Kowalski leant over his knees and covered his face.

 

“We gonna watch the ballgame?” Ray made his voice as mild as humanly possible. No point pushing the guy.

 

Kowalski straightened up and reached for the remote. “Why not?” He sounded bitter. “I got nothing else I can do.”

 

Silently, Ray offered him a beer.

 

“Thanks.”

 

It felt a bit like time travel here, sitting on the couch drinking beer. At least this time he wasn’t going for the vodka, and he wasn’t planning on sharing any deep dark secrets.

 

It was easy to forget that other people had bad days. He’d known this was hard on Benny, but somehow he’d forgotten that Kowalski might find this shit tough. _Some friend I am._ The least he could do was sit here, even if he didn’t have a fucking clue what to say.

 

Well. There was always food.

 

“You want that pizza?”

 

Kowalski raised a shoulder.

 

“You gotta eat, Stanley.” Ray tried for a bit of levity. “Turn around’s fair play.” He narrowed his eyes in mock threat. “You don’t eat I’ll call your Mom.”

 

Kowalski gave a thin smile. “We don’t want that.”

 

“Nah, she’ll be around with pierogi, cabbage and dumplings. I like my stomach, and who needs the flatulance?”

 

Kowalski didn’t rise to it, but he did drop his head back on the couch and smile slightly. “Thanks, Vecchio.”

 

Now was no time to get mushy, so Ray didn’t say anything. Instead, he took the remote and scrolled through the stations until he found the game, then rang for pizza.

 

 _Reckon I’ll be crashing on the couch,_ he thought. _Don’t want to leave them like this._

 

It was going to be a long night though. Ray knew these things.

 

Still. He’d sat stakeout for less.

~*~

 

Ben was twelve, but he was thirty-eight as well. His twelve-year-old self was unbuttoning his shirt, looking down at his feet.

 

 _Don’t do that,_ Ben told his younger self. _You don’t have to do that._

 

Young Ben didn’t hear him. He shrugged his shirt off and raised his head to look at Ben - no, behind him. Ben felt shudders climbing his back and tried to turn his head to see who was behind him.

 

He couldn’t move. Horror scrabbled around inside his chest. _Why can’t I move?_

 

His young self was still looking over Ben’s right shoulder at whoever was behind him. “Do I have to -” he flicked his glance to the left, as though there was someone else behind Ben. Of course there was someone there. Ben could feel him. “I’m sorry, Sir.” Young Ben spoke to the unseen presence. He cleared his throat. “I know you’re - I know you’re a friend, but -” he looked back to Ben’s right, his eyes pleading. “I’ve not done it with anyone else. I don’t - I don’t really want to.”

 

“It will be alright.” Gerrard’s voice came from behind Ben’s shoulder and - oh God. _This is a dream,_ Ben realised. _All I have to do is wake up._

 

He could no more wake up than he could move.

 

Gerrard was still talking. “I know you’ve not got experience with anyone else, but you know, it’s part of growing up. You’ll enjoy it. Frank here, he’ll be good to you.”

 

 _Frank. Who the hell is Frank?_ Ben still had no memory of this - other than the fact that right now he was clearly remembering. _Dissociation is often experienced as a result of trauma. I suppose I should be glad that I’m asleep and not running screaming through the streets._

 

Ben was not glad that he was asleep. He would welcome being able to run and scream. Maybe if he screamed loud enough someone would hear, someone would save him.

 

In front of him, young Ben had tucked his head down, trying to hide his misery. Ben could almost remember it. _No. I will not remember this._

 

“Yes, Sir,” the child said to Gerrard.

 

“Go on, Ben.” Gerrard sounded affectionate and gentle, almost proud. “I know you can do it.”

 

Young Ben nodded and unbuckled his belt, pulled down his trousers.

 

At that Ben did scream.

 

“Wake up, Ben, wake up!”

 

“Open your eyes. Benny! Wake the fuck up! Jesus, Kowalski, is he like this every night?”

 

“No, no. Only once before -”

 

“I’m gonna kill Gerrard. Benny, wake up.”

 

For a moment Ben nearly swam up, but he was so heavy. His own fault, he should never have combined a sleeping tablet with painkillers - he was used to neither. “Ray,” he managed, addressing both of them. “Help.”

 

And then he was back in the woods, watching as his naked self crouched in front of some stranger and Gerrard came up behind.

 

He was sitting up in bed now, sweating, his throat sore - oh, he was still screaming. Both Rays were with him, one on either side. Ray Kowalski had his arms around him, his head buried in the crook of his neck. Ray Vecchio was holding his right hand between both of his, squeezing hard.

 

Ben got his breath back. “I’m sorry.” His voice was rough. “I know it’s over.”

 

“Is it, Benny?” Ray’s eyes were wide and dark green in the dim light. Ben had never seen them that colour before. He’d never seen Ray quite that pale, even after he’d struck Zuko, even after Irene died.

 

“Yeah, it’s over.” His other Ray lifted his head and kissed his cheek. Ben went rigid, managed not to flinch. Ray snatched in a short breath and withdrew. “I’m sorry,” he said and moved to get off the bed.

 

“Don’t go.” His voice was urgent but distant as he seized Ray’s hand. Both of them were holding his hands now; it was grounding. He felt safer.

 

Safer, but not safe. Awake, but not coherent. He  was so tired. As frightened as he was, he was just so damn tired. “Please, stay.” He squeezed both Rays’ hands. “Don’t leave me.”

 

“Don’t worry, Ben. We’re here.”

 

“Yeah, Benny. We’re not going anywhere.”

 

This time when Ben dreamed he was able to turn his back on the scene. Gerrard and the other man (Frank) remained blurs. Ben wanted to rescue the child but knew, at this juncture, that he couldn’t. He could only save himself. The child would have to wait over twenty years for anyone to help.

 

Ben stared away from it, and let the weather and seasons flicker around him. Spring turned to summer, which gave way to autumn. Early snow, and Ben remembered being posed against glistening white, remembered the chest infection which followed and his grandmother chiding him for not wearing his hat. _Make it stop,_ Ben thought. It didn’t stop. The seasons changed but the noises that the boy was making, the noises of the men did not change. Ben didn’t look. He didn’t want to know if Frank was the only man that Gerrard had introduced him too, or if there were more. He had the horrible feeling that there were more.

 

_Look away, it will stop eventually. It stopped eventually._

 

_Did it, Benny?_

 

“Ben, wake up.”

 

Through the trees Ben heard snow crunching. Footfall. Not the men behind him, but a slow tramp. He would never have guessed that he could still identify the visitor from his sound of his steps, he hadn’t thought of it in years, but that footfall, at one time, had been as familiar as his own. Heavy, light. Heavy, light. The left foot was slightly twisted from a long ago break that had set badly.

 

There was a moment of piercing joy as he recognised the visitor, then terrible shame.

 

“Grandfather,” he begged. “Please, stop. Don’t, don’t look.”

 

He might as well be a ghost. For a moment Ray Kowalski stood before him, eyes full and compassionate, then his grandfather was there, staring right through him.

 

“Please, don’t look.”

 

Grandfather’s figure flickered again - Ray Vecchio this time, in his long coat, white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his mother’s cross glinting in the light. Ben knew without asking what Ray was going to do.

 

“Ray, don’t.” It would hurt him, Ben knew that. He couldn’t stand for Ray to go to jail because of him.

 

And then it was his Grandfather again - no, Ray. No, Grandfather. They raised their weapon - Grandfather a rifle, Ray Vecchio a pistol. Neither of them had any expression on their faces as they pulled the trigger. A shot rang out and Ben turned.

 

Blood on the snow, Gerrard curled in it, foetal, clutching his leg. Young Ben, shirtless, running.

 

“Ben, Ben.” His Grandfather who never raised his voice, shouting after the boy. “Come back. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

 

“Grandfather,” Ben whispered, watching as the old man dropped his rifle and pushed himself into a staggering run after the fleeing child. How could he have forgotten this?

 

“You saved me.”

~*~

 

The second time Benny woke up he wasn’t screaming, although he had been. He looked confused, washed out, calm.

 

“You okay, Benny?” Ray looked across at Kowalski who was holding his man again. Ray wished he could do that, but he was the best friend, not the boyfriend, and he didn’t know if it was allowed. It’s not like he could ask. Kowalski didn’t say anything. His eyes were red, but he hadn’t cried. Ray didn’t know if he could hold him either, if the man would ever accept a brother’s hug.

 

 _Thank God Benny’s got him. Thank God he’s got Benny._ He rubbed the stress on his forehead, the tight line between his eyes. _Who’ve I got?_

 

It was a self centred thought. Here Benny had been screaming, and Ray was making it all about him. And besides, he knew the answer to his question. Who did he have? He had his family, he had Benny. He even, weirdly, had Kowalski. Friends; he had the best and bravest of friends.

 

It didn’t help. Ray felt alone.

 

“Ray,” Benny was looking at him, muzzy with sleep. “Are you alright?”

 

_See what you get for being so selfish? Benny’s worried about you._

 

“I’m fine, Benny. You don’t got to worry about me.”

 

Benny smiled and looked at Kowalski. “And you? Ray? Are you alright?”

 

“If you are, Ben.”

 

“I’m fine.” Benny closed his eyes. “I think I’m okay to sleep now. He said it’s going to be okay.”

 

“Who said, Ben?” Kowalski glanced at Ray for his reaction, then looked back down at Benny, concern clouding his eyes.

 

“Grandfather,” Benny said. “I’d forgotten.” He smiled as he drifted. “I remember now. He saved me. He shot Gerrard.”

 

That was a good dream, Ray thought. He had no idea if it was true. Obviously, Ben’s grandfather hadn’t killed the bastard, but at least there was someone in Ben’s memory who had made him feel safe.

 

As long as Gerrard breathed the same air though, Benny would always have that shadow hanging over his shoulder. _He shot Gerrard,_ Benny had said. Benny was all about maintaining the right and the rule of law, but some part of him wanted a different justice. What was it they’d called it in Sunday school? Talking about an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. _Lex talionis.”_

Retribution, nature red in tooth and claw.

 

Ray could do that for Benny, do what Benny couldn’t do for himself, what nobody else had done for him.

 

 _I can kill Gerrard._ For the first time, he thought it as fact. The realisation was sudden and bright, a stroke of light that arced through his darkness, casting no shadow of a doubt. It wasn’t just a fantasy. He was going to do it.

 

How? He could organise a hit; he still knew who was who, he could keep himself out of it.  It would be the safest option. A hit didn’t feel right though. Ray wanted Gerrard to know _why_ he was being executed. Ray wanted to see his fear. He _needed_ to see it.

 

He knew exactly how he was going to do it. He didn’t care about getting caught, so he would do it the old fashioned way; with his bare hands. It would be the end of his career, he would go to jail, he might never see Benny again (maybe he’d visit; he hoped he’d visit.) But even if Benny abandoned him, he would do it anyway. He could probably do it tomorrow - no, more likely a few  days. The paperwork would take a little time.

 

All he needed was access. And he would get access, no doubt about it. He was a police officer. He’d had dealings with Gerrard before. All he had to do was ask. Gerrard would be dead by the end of the week.

 

Peace settled over him, and for the first time in what felt like forever he completely relaxed.

  


_I’m going to kill Gerrard._

~*~

 

After all the trauma of last night, Ben seemed - pretty calm. Maybe he’d realised it, or maybe  hadn’t figured it out yet, he had enough going on - but last night had changed everything. Ben had finally remembered something that the Canadians could check up on, something that tied Gerrard to the abuse that Ben had endured.

 

“Your grandfather actually _shot_ the bastard?”

 

“Yes.” Ben smiled down into his cup of tea. “I don’t understand why I forgot. Perhaps I was ashamed. Perhaps - well, I suspect the sound of gunfire and the blood on the snow brought back memories of my mother’s death. I imagine I was traumatised by the incident.”

 

 _And you’re not now?_ Ray bit his tongue. Even though Ben _was_ still scarred, at least he had a clearer picture of his past: not just of the bad things which happened, but the good things too.

 

“So - if your Grandad shot Gerrard, why wasn’t he arrested? Your Grandad I mean. He shot a cop.”

 

Ben looked at him and raised an eyebrow, as much as to say ‘why do you think?’

 

“Oh, oh yeah. If your Grandad had been arrested then he’d have told everybody what happened?”

 

“As it happens,” Ben spoke into his cup, “he did tell someone. He reported the matter to the head of the local detachment.”

 

“He did?” Ray was surprised. In those days that took guts. “Let me guess, the guy covered it up.”

 

“He didn’t believe him - or at least, he said that he didn’t. He implied that my grandfather had imagined it.”

 

“That’s disgusting, how could he say a thing like that?”

 

“Well, my grandfather was subjected at various points to a certain amount of - I’d call it prejudice. These days he would be recognised as being on the autistic spectrum - very high functioning, of course.”

 

“Of course.” That kind of explained a lot. Not that Ben was autistic - at least Ray didn't think so. But maybe he took after his Grandad some. From the sound of it, he wasn’t a bad man to take after. Ray wished he could have known the man.

 

“People considered Grandfather odd, unfortunately. If he had pushed the case any further then he would have been painted as an unreliable witness. And although Gerrard might have suffered some embarrassment it is my grandparents who would have suffered the most. ‘Bringing a good man down. Listening to the perverted imaginations of a deviant child. Too old to know what they were talking about.’” Ben scratched his head. “I remember my grandmother explaining to grandfather that if the story got out I would forever be considered the villain of the piece, some kind of pervert. Unfortunately, in that place and at that time, she was completely correct.”

 

Ray hung his head. He thought of Vecchio, keeping quiet about the priest. Of course it would have been like that. It had been the same thing in Chicago. It might still be, at least in certain circles. Even now, it was true all over the world.

 

At least Ben had had one champion.

 

“So, your grandparents. They were... Were they okay with you after that?”

 

“Yes,” Ben’s inflection lifted slightly in surprise. “My grandmother was uncomfortable around me for a while, but she was always aloof, and as she was a fair woman she never held it against me. I think also, she blamed herself. She was the one who invited Gerrard into our home.”

 

“These paedos do that,” Ray pointed out. “They ingracey - uhm, they wheedle their way in through family members. You know, like he was grooming her too. It’s what they do. And he was already a friend of your father’s.”

 

“Yes, they had known each other since Depot.”

 

“What was your Grandfather like, after?”

 

“Grandfather?” Ben smiled, a broad uncomplicated happiness spreading across his face. “He never treated me any differently at all. He was just....” Ben gazed back across the distance the distance of twenty-six years. “He was just kind. Solid as a rock. Always there.” His voice became wistful. “Until he wasn’t.” Ben rubbed his eyes, although they were dry. “He died of a heart attack about eighteen months later.”

 

“Awh, Ben. I’m sorry.”

 

“Yes. Well. It was quick, at least. I was with him. His is the first death that I really remember.” Ben frowned. “My mother’s comes and goes.” Ray closed his eyes in sympathy. Like Gerrard hadn’t been bad enough. “But Grandfather’s death I remember vividly. And I remember -”

 

“What?” Ray squeezed his hand.

 

“I remember the way he smiled. He was holding his chest and struggling to breathe, Grandmother was being very practical and refusing to cry. I think I was crying, I’m not sure. I put my arms around him, he squeezed me with his good arm, a hug, I suppose, though it could have been a spasm. Grandmother helped me lie him down. We were trying to get him comfortable and then he looked past us, at the door, like someone had just walked in. And he smiled.” Ben echoed the word with his own smile. “And that was that. One moment he was in pain, the next he was smiling, and then he was gone.”

 

Ray looked at his and Ben’s hands, where their fingers were entwined.

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Who do you think he saw?”

 

“I don’t know.” Ben raised Ray’s hand and kissed the knuckles. “I may find out some day.”

 

“You believe in the afterlife? You think you’ll see him again?”

 

“Oh, yes. I’m certain of it.”

 

He did sound certain too, not like someone trying to convince himself but like someone who had direct evidence. Ray wished he could be so sure. _Hang around Ben long enough, maybe he’ll teach you._

 

“So. Sorry to ask, but I got one question. How come your Dad never knew? I mean, he wouldn’t have stayed friends with Gerrard if he’d known, would he?”

 

“No, of course not.” Ben sounded hurt at the suggestion. Not without cause. Ray winced.

 

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

“No, no. It’s alright. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. He never found out because nobody ever told him.”

 

“I’d have thought your Grandad would have told him.”

 

“I’m sure he would have done,” Ben agreed. “But he never got the opportunity.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Well, my grandparents did not want to break the news by letter. For one thing, it could fall into gossiping hands. For another - well, frankly they didn’t know quite how to put it. They did write and ask him to visit, but -”

 

“Hang on, are you telling me that he didn’t come see you between your Grandad shooting that bastard and him dying? That was - shit, that was a year and a half.”

 

“He was busy.” Ben looked away, his face terse.

 

“Too busy to see his only son? Or his Mum and Dad?” Ray shook his head. “If he wasn’t dead I’d - never mind. I’m sorry. He was your Dad.”

 

“He was. And he didn’t mean badly.”

 

Ray kept his mouth shut. _Some people don’t deserve kids,_ he thought. Poor Ben.

 

“And your grandmother didn’t tell him because...?”

 

“Well, she’d just lost her husband, and was arranging the funeral. And Dad only stayed for...” Ben cleared his throat. “Not long. Anyway. The next time he came enough time had passed that I had forgotten it. I did have - well, flashes of memory. And Grandmother would tell me not to think about it, that it wasn’t my fault. I suspect that she didn’t tell my father because...” Ben crinkled his brow. “Well, I can’t be sure as to motive. It could be that she didn’t want my father to be angry, since that would have upset me more.”

 

 _Silly old bitch._ Ray shook his head. Okay, so it was a long time ago, things were different back then, but still. No wonder Ben had forgotten. His grandmother must have thought she was helping, but she pretty much ordered him to bury it.

 

“You know what this means though, don’t you?”

 

“It means several things, Ray. To which one are you referring?”

 

Okay, so Ben hadn’t put it together yet. That was cool. It meant Ray got to be the one to tell him.

 

“If your grandfather reported it, even if the detachment guy suppressed it, then there’s gonna be something in a log book somewhere. There might even be some kind of report, you never know. But there’s gonna be something, even if it’s just in a visitor’s book. And since Gerrard got shot, there’s gonna be medical records. And he was moved really suddenly from a place he’d been working at for years.”

 

Ben looked at him, eyes wide as the implications sank in.

 

“You mean....”

 

“Yeah. Put it together - you’ve got pictures which proved you were being abused. The time those photos were being taken Gerrard was stationed nearby. You have a partial thumb print tying the photos to Gerrard. Reasonable doubt by themselves, but add to that your memory, Gerrard being shot but nobody charged, and then after he’s shot he’s moved to another detachment, even though there’s no reason to. I mean, I’m right, it’s hard to find people to cover that part of the world. There would have to be a good reason to move someone. They’d either request it, or maybe they’d be fired. If Gerrard just moved on with no explanation that looks odd, doesn’t it?”

 

“It does.”

 

“So, we have photos, thumb print, your grandfather making a report, Gerrard shot but nobody charged, he gets moved away and the abuse stops. What do you think?”

 

Ben stared into space for a moment. “I think...” He blinked and looked back at Ray. “I think we got him.”

 

Ray grinned and lifted his hand for a high five. With a bemused smile Ben raised his own hand and they smacked palms.

 

“Shall I let you be the one to tell Vecchio?”

 

“I think we both should.”

 

“It’s a pity he’s not here. He left kinda quick this morning.”

 

“Not surprising,” Ben looked briefly dejected. “He may have been embarrassed by the events of last night.”

 

“Vecchio?” Ray frowned. “I don’t think so. I mean, upset for you, yeah. But he wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

 

Now that Ray thought of it, Vecchio had been weird this morning. Not as stressed and - uh - angsted out as Ray would have expected. And - was ‘angsted’ even a word? Whatever, Vecchio seemed weirdly calm this morning. Like he’d swallowed a butt load of valium or achieved enlightenment or something.

 

“Do you think so?”

 

“I know so. Vecchio wouldn’t hold it against you.”

 

He’d hold it against someone though...

 

_Oh shit._

 

Ray knew why Vecchio was walking around looking like someone who’d seen the light. Because he _had_ seen the light. Or thought he had.

 

“What’s wrong, Ray?”

 

Before he could stop himself Ray said it.

 

“Vecchio’s gonna kill Gerrard.”

~*~

 

It went a hell of a lot quicker than he’d thought. He thought his request for a visiting order would take longer than it did, but he was cheeky and he pushed. The prison governor probably just signed the form so quick to get the annoying cop off the phone.

 

That, or maybe it was fate. It felt like fate, he thought, as he arrived at the prison car park. Twenty minutes early - more than that and he’d just piss off the guards, they didn’t like people hanging around. Made them suspicious, even if it was a cop. He didn’t want to look too eager, draw attention, but equally he didn’t want to take forever with the paperwork. He didn’t _think_ he’d lose his nerve, but he’d seen tougher guys than him, real Mafia guys, crack up unexpectedly. He’d have time to crack up after he’d killed Gerrard, not before.

 

His cell phone was ringing. He checked the number. Kowalski. Either phoning about the case or to give him an update on Ben.

 

 _Not now,_ he thought, and switched the phone off, tossed it onto the back seat. _Maybe not ever,_ he thought, and regretted it for a moment, that he’d never have pizza with the guy again.

 

Okay. He checked his watch. _Now_ it was time for him to go in.

 

He unfolded himself from the car, stretched. Patted the roof - he’d never see her again. Maybe he could leave her to Benny, if he was allowed to dispose of his own assets, if Benny would take it. He shook his coat out, closed his eyes.

 

 _Time to pay, Gerrard._ He took in a deep breath, breathed it out slow. Blinked at the prison gates and nearly smiled.

 

Yes, it was time.

~*~

 

“Jesus, we’re gonna be too late.” Ray had his foot flat on the accelerator and the GTO was flying down the freeway. Ben’s eyes were shut. The white-red flash of Ray’s emergency police light strobed in time with the siren. Even behind his eyelids Ben could see it. For once though, Ben had no desire to chastise Ray for speeding; equally he had no desire to watch the road. His heart was beating out of his chest as it was, and he had to stay calm. In case Ray was right about Ray. And Ray probably was right, because Ray had booked a visit with Gerrard. And if Ray was right about Ray then -

 

Oh, words were hopeless. In case his _lover_ was right about this, in case Ben’s _best friend_ was going to throw his life away.

 

 _You know he’s right, you even dreamed it._ In Ben’s memory his grandfather’s image changed, then changed again, flickering in time with the police lights; Grandfather, Ray. Grandfather, Ray. They stepped toward Gerrard, faces blank, and raised their weapon....

 

Not, of course, that Ray would have a weapon. Not a gun, anyway. And he didn’t think Ray would risk bringing in any kind of weapon anyway, since even a tempered glass blade (easy to get hold of, immune to metal detectors) might be discovered when he was searched. Yes, Ray was a police officer, but the guards would be well within their rights to pat down any visitor, particularly one arriving at such short notice. If Ray planned to kill Gerrard he would have to -

 

Ben’s mind mind flinched. He opened his eyes, saw the freeway streaming past, and looked at the thought as objectively as possible. With pain he acknowledged its truth.

 

_If he’s going to kill Gerrard he’s going to do it with his bare hands._

 

“We’ll get there in time.” He sounded convincing, but wasn’t convinced. He didn’t know whether Ray Kowalski believed him or not. All he could do  - all either of them could do was hope. Hope against hope against hope. “Remember,” his voice was bland, his face, in the side mirror calm, “this visit was organised very quickly. He’ll be tied up with more paperwork that usual.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ray’s voice was clipped. “Paper work’s a bitch getting in to prisons.” He chewed his lower lip. “I never thought I’d wish there was more of it. Hang on.”

 

The car swerved at the junction and they came off the interstate, back end swinging heavy until Ray pulled it back with a squeal of tyres. Ben closed his eyes again, nauseous. “Are we nearly there yet?” He quoted every child he had ever shared a car with. He knew it wasn’t funny, but he felt a sudden urge to make Ray laugh, if only for a moment.The quip fell flat.

 

“Nearly,” Ray replied, taking Ben’s comment seriously. “Just hang on.”

 

Ben nodded. They had gone over the bridge. He had felt the road change beneath him, change back as they got off it. They couldn’t be more than ten minutes away now.

 

Ten minutes, and then parking, then explanations - paperwork if they didn’t believe him or if their earlier, desperate calls had not been logged and passed up the line yet. How could Ben speed things up?

 

 _I can jump out of the car while Ray’s parking, hope the guards don’t spook._ Even if they did spook he would be moving fast, would weave and duck. He had been shot at before. He had dressed in his serge this morning, preparatory to going to work - they might recognise him. He knew this prison, had been there before. And if they didn’t, he could push his way past security. He knew this prison well, had visited Gerrard here when the man tried to bargain his way out the last time. He could find the interview room. If he could open the damn doors - there had to be a way.

 

And it might not be as difficult as he feared. Ray would be on the phone to the prison as soon as they parked, just to make sure that it was known that they were coming. And perhaps Lieutenant Welsh had already got through. He had been trying as well, although he was not clear on what his absentee detective was planning.

 

Ray had slowed now.  Ben opened his eyes to see him presenting ID to the guard in the booth. Silently - his head was ringing with the silence of panic - he passed his own credentials across to the guard in the booth.

 

And then they were in the car park. Before the GTO had stopped Ben was out and running. No shots fired, but raised voices. Ben pounded across the concrete, making for the entrance.

 

_Please, let me get there in time. Let me stop him._

 

_Please, God. Let this be enough._

~*~

 

Ray’s resolve remained steady as he filled in the paperwork, signed off on his gun, watched it go into the safe. His watch, car keys, wallet and Benny’s compass went into a tray and were slid into shelving on the walls. He’d not see them again. They let him keep his mother’s cross. He supposed that would go too, in the end. No personal effects allowed in prison.

 

Ray kept thinking of last times. In about ten minutes he would be arrested. Last time he’d see that gun. No more badge. He looked down at his clothes. No more Armani, no more belt or tie, no more lace up shoes.

 

He stepped through the metal detector, raised his arms for the pat down, and followed the guard down the corridor.

 

Last time he would ever be free.

 

_You could still turn around._

 

The thought interested him. Not that he would do that, he wouldn’t, but that he would think it at all. He had come this far, why would he stop now? Gerrard deserved to die. Ray’s hands were tingling with the urge to strangle. He had done it once before; self defence in Vegas. He could do it again, for better cause. This was why he had survived Vegas. He had often wondered, why it was that he came through unpunished; why would God spare someone who so deserved to be punished for his crimes?

 

Now he knew.

 

One last crime and he could rest. They might execute him - he wouldn’t fight it. Even if they didn’t, an ex policeman in prison wouldn’t survive long.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

 _Benny. I know you can’t forgive me. I’m sorry. I don’t need to be forgiven. Just don’t hate me._ Ray could never tell Benny that he loved him - there was too much weight in the word, too much room for misunderstanding. Would Benny still love him, afterward?

 

 _Yes. He can’t forgive me, but I know he loves me. He knows that I love him._ Some things didn’t need to be said.

 

They had stopped now. Ray stared at the back of the guard’s head as he fiddled with the keys. Soon Ray would be locked in and alone; locked in with his victim. The guard would be standing outside, giving them some privacy. If Gerrard didn’t make too much noise then Ray had enough time. To strangle a man, to be sure, took five, ten minutes tops.

 

Hard work, sweaty work. He would have to use all his strength and skill to squeeze the jugular shut, then crush the throat, the trachea. The muscles of his hands and arms would ache for days afterwards. But he knew he could do it. He had felt that crunch before when the gristle gave.

 

_Let it be enough. Please, God, let this be enough._

 

Gerrard was already in the interview room, his arms stretched in front of him, palms down, wrists chained to the table. His chair, like the table, was riveted to the floor.

 

“Detective. I should have known.” Gerrard’s air of sneering condescension was the same. Ray smiled at him and saw a flicker of doubt on the other mans’ face, quickly suppressed. Gerrard affected nonchalance, but he was confused. He had no idea why Ray was there.

 

Ray nodded at the guard. “I need a few minutes alone with the prisoner.” He barely noticed the guard’s acknowledgement as he stepped out and locked the door. Ray’s entire attention was trained on Gerrard. The man had adopted an expression of amusement. “Where’s Ben? I’d have thought he’d be here.”

 

“You don’t get to say his name.” Ray’s voice was empty of expression. He was still smiling.

 

“It’s just a question, Detective. Where you go he follows.” Gerrard’s face became knowing and smug. “He’s quite the faithful companion. But I suppose you know that.”

 

_I am going to wipe that smirk off your face._

 

Ray took three swift steps around the table, dropped his hands on Gerrard’s shoulders as though he was going to give him a back massage. Despite his outward composure, the old man flinched. He hadn’t been expecting that. Ray gripped tightly, so tightly that he knew it would hurt. He thought of the bruises that would flower on Gerrard’s corpse, marking the scapulas and clavicles, the purple that would ring the bastard’s neck. He imagined the man pale and naked on a gurney, being slid into the dark, into ice.

 

That was good. Ray liked that picture. He liked the tangible fear that Gerrard couldn’t hide, that was running from his shoulders and up through Ray’s hands. It fizzed like electricity, gave Ray strength. _I’m going to leave more than bruises._ He kneaded Gerrard’s shoulders then pinched, his grip as tight as pliers. Gerrard hissed. His muscles had become were  iron, but despite his fear the old bastard had the presence of mind not to say anything. Ray leant down, whispered in Gerrard’s ear.

 

“I know what you did to Benny.”

 

Gerrard jerked in his seat, tried to pull away. Ray yanked him back, slammed him against the metal of his chair. His head was still next to Gerrard’s ear. “And after you are dead, I’ll make sure everybody knows what you are. Your own mother wouldn’t mourn you.”

 

“No,” Gerrard cried out. Ray lifted his left hand, the better to crush the jugular, and dropped his right arm across Gerrard’s torso to hold him in place. A two handed strangulation was easier on the murderer’s fingers and wrists, but it might take too long; the hands could get in each other’s way. Ray knew already that his grip was strong enough to do this one handed. He squeezed, his fingers hooking into the soft flesh. He dug down into the jugular, crushed the arterial veins behind. Gerrard struggled, his feet drumming on the floor, his hands snapping back and forth against the chains as he tried to lift them to defend himself. A shame. He was making more noise than Ray remembered from last time. They would be heard. Of course, last time the other man had not been chained to a table.

 

Ray watched himself and Gerrard, bound together in violence. He felt nothing, other than the warm relief that soon he would be able to sleep. It all seemed a long way off. The door swung open and the guard rushed into the room. This was taking too long. _Die already._ The guard had his gun drawn, pointed at Ray. He was saying something - _‘stop or I’ll shoot’ -_ nothing that mattered. Ray dropped to his knees behind Gerrard. He just had to live a few minutes longer. He lifted his left hand and covered Gerrard’s mouth, pinched his nose shut. The guard was behind them now, trying to drag him back, pulling at his hands, trying to pry his fingers away from Gerrard’s throat. _Not yet. I’ll not let go yet._

 

Gerrard was going slack, his struggles slowing down.

 

_Soon. I’ll let go soon enough._

 

The door swung open again, footsteps slamming through. Another guard - it didn’t matter.

 

“Ray,” the voice called out. “Ray, don’t!!”

 

The world swung, spun, slowed and stopped. That was not a guard. Ray looked up and let his arms fall. Gerrard collapsed sideways in his chair, started wheezing. The guard ran around to prop him, shouted into his walky talky. Ray knelt, arms dangling by his side, pins and needles beginning to run up and down them.

 

The man came toward him, soft stepping now, and dropped beside him, put his arms around him. “Ray,” he said. “Ray, Ray, Ray. It’s alright, it’s going to be alright.”

 

“Benny,” Ray whispered, then turned into the hug. He hid his head on Benny’s shoulder, made no sound and cried.

~*~

 

At first it was a cluster fuck, then all of a sudden it wasn’t. In the immediate aftermath of Vecchio’s murder attempt the prison went crazy. Lights flashing everywhere, guards shouting, total fucking lockdown. Ray was dragged off before he could even follow Ben and shoved into a side room as all the doors slammed shut. He couldn’t get to Ben or Vecchio now if he tried. And the worst of it was that nobody would tell him what had happened. Had Vecchio succeeded in killing Gerrard? Had some idiot guard shot Fraser? Ray hadn’t heard any shots, but that meant nothing. It was so damn noisy in here, there were so many doors in the way.

 

Ray would have gone as crazy as Vecchio if he’d had to wait a minute longer. It was hours, a terrible three and a half hours - before Ben came into the sideroom where Ray was sequestered. He was pale, but he smiled. Ray bounded to his feet, sprang across the room and hugged him.

 

“You’re okay,” he gasped. “Thank God you’re okay.”

 

“I’m fine,” Ben rested his forehead against Ray’s and stroked the back of his head.

 

“How’s Vecchio?”

 

“He’s... He’ll be alright.”

 

“Did he -” Ray’s voice froze in his throat. He didn’t _think_ Vecchio had killed Gerrard, Ben wouldn’t have been smiling if he had - but something had gone down. Ben hadn’t said that Vecchio was alright, he said he _would_ be. That meant he wasn’t alright now. That meant - what did it mean?

 

“They didn’t, uh, taser him or anything? Or, I mean, he’s not been shot?” Of course he wasn’t shot. Ben would be in pieces if he had been. God, Ray couldn’t stop panicking though.

 

“Nothing like that.” Ben cleared his throat. “He went quietly.”

 

“Oh, fuck. He did it, didn’t he? He killed Gerrard. They arrested him.”

 

“No, no.  Gerrard’s not dead.” Ben pulled back a little and smiled into Ray’s eyes, a touch of bitter pleasure in his eyes. An odd look on Ben, one that made Ray uncomfortable even as he understood it. “It was a close thing though.”

 

Okay. Ray didn’t want to know. Not now anyway, he’d know soon enough. There were more important things. “So - you said Vecchio’s gonna be okay. But he went quietly? He’s going to jail?” Ray’s mouth went dry. Vecchio didn’t deserve that. How long would he get? Would he spend his sentence in solitary, or would they put him with the general population? The first would be torture, to be all alone. The second... Well, an ex cop mightn’t survive it.

 

“Don’t worry, Ray.” Ben stroked his cheek with the back of his hand.

 

“What,” he blurted out incredulously, “are you saying they didn’t arrest him?”

 

“Oh, no. They did arrest him. I wish they hadn’t, but under the circumstances they had no choice.” Ben cleared his throat. “The best we can hope for is that the prison doctor will diagnose him as having had some form of breakdown.”

 

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Ray snorted. “He cracked like crazy cake.”

 

Ben looked away, a pained expression on his face. Ray winced. It wasn’t that long ago that Ben had cracked, after all. Maybe Ben was just lucky that he’d run off into the woods. If he’d been faced with Gerrard he might have tried to kill him too. Come to that, so might Ray - though at least he hadn’t planned the murder down to the most meticulous detail. Vecchio was one organised lunatic. No wonder the Feds had pegged him for the Vegas gig. He must have been the coolest lobster mobster in the crew.

 

“Yes, well.” Ben rubbed his face. He looked wiped out. “If he _is_ diagnosed as having had a psychotic break then he’ll be placed under medical observation. At minimum it would be for the next three days, but I imagine, given the fact that he attempted murder, that would be unrealistic. I suspect he would be - uh -” uncharacteristically Ben stumbled over his words. He took a deep breath and finished the thought. “I suspect he would be committed for rather longer.”

 

“How much longer?”

 

“That depends.” Ben snapped, even though he looked more miserable than annoyed. His hand still rested on Ray’s face. “I can’t foresee the future. I have no idea how long it will take for him to...”

 

“To what?”

 

“To respond to whatever treatment is considered necessary.”

 

“You really do think he’s going to end up in the funny farm?”

 

“To be honest,” Ben looked away again. “It’s the best outcome we can hope for. If he reacts well to therapy and complies with treatment then there is at least a chance that a sympathetic judge might grant him bail.”

 

“‘A chance.’” Ray closed his eyes. “So, best we can hope for is that he’ll end up in the funny farm?” Ben said nothing. Ray squeezed his arm. “Hey, it could be worse,” he admitted. “At least he won’t be a cop in prison. That would be a hell of a lot worse. It’s not the end of the world.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Ben’s voice was bleak.

 

“It isn’t,” Ray insisted. “He’s been through a hell of a lot worse.”

 

“Yes,” Ben blinked hard. “Vegas.” Ray stayed silent a moment too long. Ben looked up, sharply. “Not Vegas. Or - not only Vegas.”

 

Awh, shit. Ray really wasn’t going to say anything, even if he did want to tell Ben what Vecchio had revealed about that fucking pervert priest. He couldn’t break Vecchio’s confidence though. This wasn’t his story to tell, and Ray had been undercover before. He knew how to keep a promise, and he knew how to keep a secret. Vecchio deserved that much.

 

The problem was, Ben was psychic or something. At least, there were times he could read Ray’s mind. Unfortunately, this was one of them. His eyes widened in sudden and shocked understanding. “Something from when he was younger.” His voice was slow and his gaze intense, as he read Ray’s face for confirmation. “From when he was a child.”

 

“Jesus, Ben.” Ray pulled away from Ben’s touch and took a step away, turning his back. Okay, so he’d maybe confirmed it, through his silence and withdrawal, but he wasn’t going to say a damn thing.

 

“You knew this,” Ben said. “You knew this and didn’t tell me.”

 

Crap, crap, crap.

 

Ray turned back to look at Ben. For a moment his eyes were hard and angry, then the blue softened. “It was hard for you to keep this secret.” Ben raised his hand again to touch Ray’s face. “I understand. I respect you for it.”

 

Ray swallowed, making an audible gulp.

 

“I respect your silence. I respect you both, you don’t have to say anything.”

 

Ray jerked his head in a single nod and looked away.

 

“If Ray chooses to tell me, I will listen. At least - now I understand a little more.”  


“He didn’t do this to avenge himself, you know.” It wasn’t the main reason, at least. “He did this for you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And you’re right, what you said when you came in.”

 

Ben tilted his head. “You’ll have to remind me.”

 

“You said not to worry, that it would be alright.”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Ben smiled. “I suppose - well, in the long run it looks most likely that he will be acquitted on the grounds of temporary -” Ben stopped and looked pained. Ray started talking so that Ben wouldn’t have to say the word. They both knew what that word was. It didn’t need saying - and besides. The other word was ‘temporary.’ Vecchio had friends. After this he’d get the help he’d probably needed since he was a kid. Finally admit just how fucked up his childhood had been.

 

“Vecchio’s gonna be fine,” Ray insisted. He even, fiercely, believed it. “He’s got us. We’ll look after him.”

 

“Yes.” Ben dropped a kiss on Ray’s cheek. “Yes, we will.”

~*~

Ben applied for visiting rights every day, but it was two weeks before permission was granted. Security wasn’t as visible as it would have been in a prison, but it was still a closed psychiatric unit. The thought of Ray locked up in here made Ben’s skin crawl, although he understood the reasoning behind it.

 

“Hello, Ray.” Ben smiled, but spoke cautiously. Ray was pale and tired looking, sitting on the edge of a couch in the visitor’s lounge, with his fingers curled over his knees. He was dressed in his regular clothes, and Ben noticed that he had his mother’s cross back on. That had to be a good sign - at least the doctors must no longer consider him a suicide risk; not, of course, that a fine link metal chain could have done much damage. It was hardly as though Ray could hang himself from it. And presumably the other residents of this ward were not considered a physical threat. Covertly Ben looked down at Ray’s feet. He was shod, but the shoes were slip ons. Maybe he was overly optimistic. Under normal circumstances, Ray wore lace ups. Still, at least he was wearing shoes. And although his clothes were casual they were neat. Ray was wearing one of his ghastly Hawaiian shirts. Someday Ben really needed to ask him what he had been thinking, in the first few months of their acquaintance, with his uncharacteristically garish attire. At least now it made sense for him to dress down. It wasn’t as though anyone would wear an Armani suit while a patient in a mental institution. So, maybe Ray didn’t look quite his usual put together self, but at least he was paying some attention to his appearance. That was a step in the right direction. According to Sophia (and good Lord, that poor woman) Ray had been all but catatonic the first time she was allowed to see her son.

 

He did look better than Ben had feared though. Yes, washed out and pale, but certainly not catatonic.

 

“Hi, Benny.” Ray’s voice was hoarse and he blinked, a little owlishly, as though he had just woken up or was fighting sleep. Medication, no doubt. Sophia had said that they had him on anti depressants. Ben hadn’t pushed her any further for clarification, but he suspected that antidepressants wasn’t the whole story.  “How you doing?” Ray’s voice was slurred and his eyes were hooded, not making contact with Ben’s own. Not so much that he was avoiding a direct gaze, more as though it was too much effort to look at anything other than his feet.

 

“I’m fine, Ray.” Ben frowned. He wasn’t sure exactly how to approach this conversation - an odd feeling, really. He was rarely lost for words, and Ray was so well known to him that it was practically unheard of for them to be stuck for conversation. Even when they were at odds they had always communicated, except for that one time, and they had got through that long ago. Sometimes it felt as though they could have a conversation when they were in different countries - though that was a fanciful thought. The only other time and person he felt that way about was his other Ray. Perhaps Ben was too much of a romantic, in the classical sense of that term. Or perhaps he was merely codependent. He nearly smiled at the thought. There were worse people he could depend upon than his Rays.

 

All of which being the case, surely he should know how to talk to the man sitting opposite him, his good friend, Ray Vecchio.

 

He shook himself. Really, if he had learned anything in life it was that the best way out of any situation was through.

 

“I didn’t come here to make small talk, Ray.” He gentled his voice, pitching his words as kindly as he could lest they sounded harsh. “I really do want to know how you are.”

 

Ray looked up at him then, with what appeared to be an effort and managed a smile. It seemed genuine, though it clearly cost him. Ben felt a flutter of relief. He hadn’t been sure what to expect - anger, withdrawal. Ray looked calm though, accepting, glad to see him. _Thank God._

 

“I really am fine, Benny.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Yeah. Just - got to work through a few things. It’s -” he paused and coughed into his fist. “Sorry. Throat’s dry.”

 

“Do you need some water?” Ben looked around for an orderly. There was nobody to be seen. They were being afforded a surprising amount of privacy.

 

“Nah, I’m fine. Just got to get used to talking again.”

 

Ben smiled, though it was painful to force it, and tried not to dwell on the image that rose in his mind; Ray silent - so unlike himself - for long enough that it hurt him to speak.

 

“Take your time.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, Benny. I’m learning to do that.”

 

Ben nodded and waited.

 

“I’ve got something I kinda need to say.” Ray forced his eyes up again to meet Fraser’s own. They were still tired, but shiny, like there were tears behind them. “I don’t know how to say it.”

 

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Ben offered. “I mean, if that’s what you are trying to say.”

 

“Nah, it’s not that. I mean, I know I should, but sorry never fixed anything. It’s, uh, it’s something else.”

 

Ben waited for a moment as the silence got thicker between them. Ray seemed to shrink back into the couch, as though he could melt through the furniture.

 

Oh. This was the secret that his Rays had been keeping from him. It had to be.  

 

“If it helps...” Ben stalled for a moment, then pushed on. “If it helps, I think I have guessed it. I think - I think I may have been -” he stumbled. How on earth could he put this? “I think we may have been - well - been in the same place.”

 

Ray dropped his gaze back down again on his limp hands. For a moment Ben thought he might deny it, or even say nothing. Ray’s words killed that hope. “It was worse for you, Benny.”

 

Oh God. Ben’s heart lurched. This was his first direct confirmation of his guess. It hurt that he was right.

 

Ray continued. “It didn’t last long. Only - only a few years, and only - well, once a week. Saturdays, most weeks. And actually, not even every Saturday. Sometimes he was at another diocese. And, uhm. It was never really physical. I mean - he didn’t do anything that hurt me, physically, you know. He just -” Ray closed his eyes, opened them again with what looked like fright, and stopped talking. Ben knew from experience exactly what that fright was. There were things behind Ray’s eyes that he didn’t want to see.

 

“Whatever happened, Ray, it hurt you.” Ben moved his chair slightly closer to Ray, their knees facing but not touching. “And - years?” He struggled not to let his anger bleed through - he couldn’t risk Ray thinking that he was angry with him. “Every Saturday? Someone you should have been able to trust? That’s bad enough.” He rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. “For God’s sake, Ray,” he blurted. “I know exactly how you feel about Gerrard. If I found this man I would -”

 

“Would what, Benny?” Ray’s voice warmed with an unexpected humour. “You’re not like me. You’re a good man, it’s not like you’d kill him.”

 

“You’re a good man too. And...” Ben paused. “Do you know,” he hesitated, startled by this new knowledge of himself. “I think - I think I might.”

 

“Really?” Ray’s voice squeaked with surprise and he coughed again.

 

Ben looked at Ray.

 

“Really.”

 

“Awh, Benny.” Ray smiled at him and lifted his hand, petted Ben’s cheek. It was the first time they had touched since Ray’s arrest. A weight came off Ben’s heart at the realisation that it was Ray who had instigated it. “You won’t have to do that.” Ray dropped his hand and folded his arms around his chest, giving himself a hug. “The old bastard’s dead. He’s got to explain himself to God now.”

 

Ben smiled at that. “Good.” Not that Ben was sure there was a God, but he did know there was an afterlife, and besides, he was sure that Ray believed in the Deity. If Ray was right, there might be justice after all. And Ray, at least, had the comfort of believing in that ultimate Judge. “But...” Ben frowned, puzzled as to how to express the next thought. “You need to bury him.” No, that was not the right metaphor. After all, both he and Ray were examples of how dangerous burying ones demons could be. “I mean to say - not bury him. You need to exorcise him.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, a wry twist to his voice. “I’m all about exorcising unwanted ghosts.”

 

Ben quirked an eyebrow. He wasn’t quite sure how to react to that.

 

“You need to exorcise Gerrard too,” Ray continued. “Which, the fucker isn’t dead, so it might be difficult.”

 

“Ray,” Ben could say this easily. “I’ve already exorcised him.”

 

“You have?” Ray tilted his head and gave Ben a sceptical look. “How’s that then?”

 

“When you - well, when you were trying to...”

 

“Strangle him?” Ray smirked, then looked embarrassed. He was acting more and more like himself as the conversation continued.

 

“Well, yes. When you were - uhm - demonstrating impressive upper body strength.”

 

Ray barked a laugh. “Strangling him,” he reiterated and covered his face, as though embarrassed.

 

“Yes.” Ben managed not to laugh. Quite why this was funny he had no idea, but suddenly the conversation seemed absurd. “Which, though misguided, demonstrated a high regard for our friendship and....”

 

Ray kept his face covered and spun his other hand around in a ‘hurry it up’ gesture.

 

“Well, the point I’m trying to make is that - when I stepped into that room you might expect that I would have had some kind of visceral reaction to Gerrard. But the truth was...” Ben’s fingers twitched for a moment, then he reached out and briefly touched Ray’s shoulder. “The truth was, I barely even saw him. All I cared about was you.”

 

There was silence in the room and Ben blinked. His throat was tight and this time it was his turn to force up his eyes up and look into Ray’s face. Ray was smiling, a deep and calm compassion shining in his gaze.

 

“Awh, Benny. I love you too.”

~*~

 

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. At the end of Benny’s visit an orderly tapped on the door and entered the room, a pleasant look on his face. Ray didn’t trust the pleasant look, knowing from experience that this particular orderly was quite capable of tackling him to the floor and sitting on him until someone came along and stuck him with a syringe. It was a sign of how truly desperate Ray had been only weeks ago that he had tried to escape this building by charging through a man built like a brick wall.

 

Right now the man didn’t seem like a much of a threat, but Ray wasn’t taking any chances. Benny stood at the same moment Ray did, stepped forward and hugged him, almost like he was Italian and not a Canadian from the Arctic Circle descended from taciturn Scots.

 

“I’ll see you soon, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, Benny.” Ray smiled as convincingly as he could. “I’ll be out in no time.” Benny smiled back as though he believed him. Maybe he did. Maybe he knew something Ray didn’t - like whether he’d be charged for attempted murder, or whether a judge would believe that he was not guilty by virtue of insanity.

 

Insanity. Holy Mother of God, it was hard to wrap his head around that. Hard to grasp the fact that he had fallen completely out of his tree, that being considered insane was his best outcome.

 

 _I’m never going to live this one down,_ he thought, imagining his mother walking on eggshells the rest of his life, his sisters caution, the neighbours’ sideways glances. That was if he was lucky and didn’t get locked up for the next ten to twenty.

 

 _God help me,_ he thought, _I am royally fucked._

 

By the time Ray was returned to his quiet side ward he was feeling blank and empty again. He sat on his bed and stared at the walls. The room was featureless, windowless, bare. A window would have needed curtains or a blind, and when he had arrived, after he had panicked at the enclosed space and attempted to flee, he hadn’t been considered safe enough to be trusted with such soft furnishings or the company of other patients. They had doped him to the gills; after the first time Ray had let them. It softened the world, even if did make his mouth dry and his tongue taste like shit.

 

Putting him in this barren room hadn’t made a lot of sense to him, during those brief islands of lucidity when he had been trying to make sense of his situation. Surely if they thought he could somehow strangle himself with a curtain they would have thought his clothes or bed sheets to be a threat. Not that he wasn’t grateful to have clothes and bedsheets. Just that at his worst he didn’t feel he deserved it, that he deserved anything. Maybe it wasn’t that they thought he’d hang himself, maybe they thought if he could see the outside world he’d figure away to jump through the glass. Not that he had been suicidal, at least so far as he remembered. No, what he remembered most was that he had been feeling nothing. He had liked that feeling of not feeling. He dimly remembered his mother visiting a few times. It should have felt awful, shameful. It probably would, next time.

 

The problem was that he was getting better. He knew that he had been ‘getting better’ for some time now, whatever ‘getting better’ meant. He did know that part of what ‘getting better’ involved was feeling worse for a while. That scared him more than anything. What if it meant feeling worse for the rest of his life? How could it not? He didn’t know how he could ever come to terms with what he had nearly done - not to Gerrard, but to Benny, to himself, to his family. His mother would never have got over it. Benny - well, it seemed that Benny would forgive him - that he had never even needed to forgive him, in fact. But Ray knew that Benny’s faith wasn’t deserved, and that he didn’t deserve to be forgiven. Not just for this fuck up, but for all that he had done in the name of ‘justice’ while living as a mobster in Vegas.

 

He had been too good at that. And it wasn’t that he had been playing a role. He had been escaping into it. Even as he was horrified by Armando’s crimes, by his own crimes as Armando, he had been just so damned relieved not to be Ray Vecchio, at least for a while.

 

So, no. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven, and he didn’t want to get better. Better was worse, and he desperately wanted to escape back into catatonia, into silence. He didn’t want to feel at all.

 

He had to though. So what that he wanted everything to stop? So what if he wanted to become a block of wood? So what that he didn’t want to move out of this quiet little room? It was happening anyway, whatever he wanted. Things were changing, the world was moving on and he was moving on with it. He was ‘getting better.’ It hurt, and he hated that it hurt.

 

He owed it to Benny, though. He owed it to his family, to Kowalski, to keep moving in the world, not to disappear. If he turned his back on his guilt, on his shame, he would be turning from the pain of it. He couldn’t do that to them. After everything else it would be the ultimate cowardice.

 

Too late anyway. He was obviously responding to treatment. He wasn’t considered a danger to others anymore, even if there was still some question as to whether or not he was a danger to himself. At this rate he would be forced to leave his barren little sanctuary with its solitary cot, and would move into a room with three other patients.

 

And at some point he would have to face Ma, face the music, and face the system. When he had tried to kill Gerrard, he hadn’t cared about going to prison. Now he did. He supposed that was a step in the right direction. It was a step in some direction anyway. What the hell would happen to him when he got out of this place? Ray maybe didn’t _want_ to feel anything - one thing for sure, he didn’t want to be shivved to death.

 

God Almighty. Ray didn’t even know what he wanted. He just knew that he was tired and that he was alive. Maybe he wasn’t too happy about that.

~*~

 

“How was he?” Ma got the question in before Ray did. Ray swallowed. He couldn’t resent her for mobbing Ben the minute he walked in her front door. He could worry about him though. Ben was smiling, but it was a tired smile. Which made sense, of course, since he hadn’t slept well the night before. Not that he had suffered a return of the nightmares - just that he had been worrying about Vecchio.

 

“Is he okay?” Ray blurted out before Ben could answer. He cringed inside. Here he was trying to give Ben a little space to breathe, and he couldn’t even do that. Story of Ray’s life - clingy, pushy, in everybody’s face. And insecure, apparently. “Sorry, sorry Ben,” he babbled. “I just - okay. Okay, I’ll shut up.”

 

“He’s fine,” Ben held up a reassuring hand. Ray took in a breath, could feel words bubbling up inside, about to burst out again. He pushed them down. Beside him Ma was vibrating with anxiety. “Honestly, Sophia, Ray,” Ben insisted. “He is fine.”

 

“How can he be fine?” Sophia’s voice was brittle, too quick and high pitched. “Last time I saw him he didn’t even look at me. It was like he wasn’t there, like he couldn’t see me.”

 

“He’s talking,” Ben said. “In fact, we had quite the conversation. He even laughed.”

 

“He is? He is really talking? You’re not trying to make me feel better?”

 

Ben looked exasperated for a moment, though you couldn’t hear it in his voice.

 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Sophia. Yes, he’s talking,”

 

Sophia nodded, still anxious. “Is it just me to who he doesn’t talk? What did I do? Why will he not talk to me?”

 

“You didn’t do anything Ma,” Ray spoke up, trying to reassure her. “It must just be that he’s feeling better since you last saw him.”

 

“Better,” she closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath - sounded like a prayer in Italian, though it could just as easily have been a string of swear words. “Does he eat?”

 

“I presume so,” Ben said, and tugged his ear, a clear sign of uncertainty. “I wasn’t there at meal time, but -”

 

“I knew it, I knew it.” Ma shook her head. “He is not eating. He cannot lose anymore weight - I need to get some food to him -”

 

“Sophia, I promise. He hasn’t lost anymore weight.”

 

“You are sure?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

 

For a moment Ma looked relieved, then her expression changed back to her current default of worn misery. “Has he shaved? Last time I saw him he had a beard. Not a big beard, but too big. He doesn’t like beards, he never did. Why would he grow a beard if he was well?”

 

Ben opened his mouth to respond, but Sophia was running on. “It was like it wasn’t even Ray in there. He’s always so particular about his appearance. I thought maybe it was because -” her voice became pleading. “Was it because they were scared to let him use a razor? Do they think he’s going to hurt himself? Do they think he -”

 

“Shush,” Ben reached out and touched his finger to Ma’s lips to silence her. The gesture was so unexpected, so impossibly intimate, that her eyes widened and her words ran out. Ray stared at Ben, his jaw slack while he tried to process the moment. It was beyond rare for Ben to initiate contact with anyone, other than him and Vecchio.

 

Into the startled silence, Ben spoke. “He’s fine. As fine as he can be. He is clean, he is shaved, he is dressed, he is sitting up and smiling, talking sense - repentant, obviously; worried about the future, worried about you, but Sophia -” his eyes flicked sideways to Ray, including him in the conversation, “both of you. I promise, Ray is on the mend.”

 

Sophia lifted her hands to her eyes. Her throat clicked as she swallowed a sob. Ray reached out to her, grabbed her hand.

 

“We’ll look after him, Ma.” He squeezed, feeling her long, work-rough fingers tighten as the gesture was returned. “I promise, we’ll look after him.”

 

“You will.” She turned around and glared at Ray, transfixing him as she made it a command. _“You will.”_ She stabbed a finger; it shook. Her tears were bits of glass, her face carved ice. Ray felt an atavistic shudder climb his spine, as though she was laying a curse on him, some maternal malediction if he failed to defend her son. He wished she knew it was unnecessary. He would never abandon Vecchio, with or without her curse. He didn’t know when it had happened, but at some point the man had become as much a brother to him as if they had been born kin, as much a brother as he had always been to Ben.

 

All out of words and helpless to help her, Ray patted her hair and looked across at Ben. _Do something,_ he thought. _Say something. Comfort her. I don’t know what to do._ As always, Ben heard him. He stepped forward and rested his own big hand on Ma’s shoulder.

 

“Sophia.” His voice was that baritone candy; warm, gentle and as certain as only Ben’s could be. “All will be well.” It felt like a counterweight to Ma’s despair. “Ray is right. We will look after your son.”

 

Sophia stepped back from both of them and stared, weighing them up. When Ray was a child his Mum’s Mum had told him stories about the Morrigan. His Dad’s Mama, his own Babcia, had told him about Jezda. For an instant Ma Vecchio looked just like that judge, that warrior queen, that bitter, angry witch. His heart swelled with pride at Ma’s nobility, even as he flinched.

 

The moment, thank God, broke. Ma wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Taking in a breath she collected herself. It seemed she had measured them in the balance and they had been found sufficient. “Yes, of course.” Her voice and face were utterly calm. “You will look after each other.” She looked at both of them, Ben and Ray, and stated their thoughts as clearly as though she had heard them. “You will all look after each other. It’s what brothers do.”

 

She might as well be stating that the sky was blue .

~*~

 

Brothers. Yes, Ben knew that. At least, he should have known that. He knew it now. Sophia insisting on the honorific ‘Ma’ was not indulging a mere affectation, an empty gesture of friendship. She meant it. When she offered Ben seconds and thirds, when she chastised him for working too hard, she was doing no more nor less than she did for her own children. She was looking after them. And now she demanded that of Ben, that he protect her natural born son. She would demand that of Ray too - both her Rays. Ben no longer had any doubt that Ma saw them all as her children.

 

Family indeed. ‘Look after each other.’ Yes, yes they would. They had been looking after each other for years by this point. That was never going to change.

 

Other things did change, inevitably. After the reassurance of their initial conversation at the hospital, Ray seemed to regress. It was not only Sophia who was hurt by her son’s flat affect and delayed responses; so was Ben’s other Ray. Five minutes into his first visit he came out of the guest lounge, flushed and angry looking.

 

“I thought you said he was talking.” Ray said. “What, am I not good enough?”

 

“What do you mean?” _Have they been arguing already?_ “What happened?”

 

“Nothing,” Ray snapped. “He just said hello, that was it. Grunted when I asked him how he was, stared over my shoulder like I didn’t exist, and didn’t even pretend to be interested. He’ll talk to you - what, am I not good enough for him?”

 

Ben rubbed his forehead. He had been fearing something like this. A regression of some sort was to be expected: Ben’s reading around the subject suggested that the early stages of recovery were the most risky. When the patient gained insight into their previous behaviour panic and shame often kicked in, triggering relapse. In fact, four to six weeks into recovery was the period with the highest risk of suicide. So - right about now would be the point that Ray’s recovery would take a step or five back.

 

Not that Ray was going to commit suicide. _God, no._ Ben closed his eyes and breathed against a world where that would happen. Of _course_ Ray wouldn’t do that. Good Lord. For one thing, Ben wouldn’t damn well let him. For another, he knew for a fact that Ray would never do that to his mother.

 

Not that this would be much comfort to Ray’s friends. They might not be worried that he’d jump off a bridge. That wasn’t the kind of thing that people worried about if they hadn’t already lost someone to suicide, not even when their dear ones were in hospital. But people did feel hurt at the sudden retreat of a patient in the early stages of recovery. Ben could only imagine his own feelings, when he next saw his friend and received nothing but distance and shame. It was coming, and he knew it now: equally he knew that he would cope. He knew that it would pass. He knew, even, that it would hurt. He didn’t know how to explain it to others though. Not to Sophia, not to Francesca, not to his other Ray, standing in front of him now, flushed with upset and lack of understanding. How could Ben start to explain it? What was he meant to say? Something as clinical sounding as ‘This is a natural part of recovery. He might get worse before he gets better’? Something as definitive as ‘He’ll never be the same but he’ll always be your friend, your brother, your son’? _It’s not like I’m an actual medical professional._ Ben bit his lip. There was so much he didn’t know.

 

After too long a pause he realised that Ray was staring at him, sad eyed, angry and still confused. Ben cleared his throat and restarted the conversation, pitching his voice to calm. He couldn’t have both his Rays miserable, and at least this one he could reassure.

 

“You sound just like Sophia,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so that if the conversation rose to argument it wouldn’t carry through to the next room, where Ray Vecchio was sitting for his visiting hour. “She was concerned that he isn’t saying much as well. It has nothing to do with either of you.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I can only assume that he has had some kind of setback, or perhaps they have changed his medication.”

 

“Okay.” Ray’s aggressive stance softened, and he sat down heavily. “Okay, I reckon I knew that. Well, kinda - maybe guessed that.  It’s just -”

 

“What, Ray?”

 

“Well, I just - I must like the style pig after all. I’ve been worried about him, and I was just looking forward to seeing him, that’s all. You know, you said he was getting better, I thought I could make him laugh, maybe cheer him up a bit. That’s all. He’s got to be worried sick, what with seeing the judge and all.”

 

“Maybe that’s it,” Ben suggested hopefully. He knew it was too easy a fix, but it had to be part of it. “He’s appearing before the judge next week, and as you know, the woman has the power to change his entire future.”

 

Ray nodded his head and looked at his hands. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That would scare the crap out of me too. She could send him to jail for the next twenty years, or she could recommend he stay here ’til he’s safe to go running with scissors.”

 

Ben laughed at the unexpected and ludicrous image. “You should never run with scissors, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, well. You know me and Vecchio. We like living dangerously.”

 

Ben chuckled. “It would appear so.” After a moment he uncrossed his arms from his chest. “Do you want to go back in?”

 

“Could you do it?” Ray ducked his head, embarrassed. “Ah crap. I sound twelve.” He laughed weakly. “But I mean - you were meant to be next anyway, and they’ll only let us in one at a time. I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Maybe you don’t have to say anything. Maybe it just means something that he knows you’re there.”

 

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if it means enough.”

 

Ben paused, then spoke his most intimate truth.

 

“If it was me in here it would mean everything to have you visit.”

 

“Vecchio’s not you.”

 

“He loves you anyway.”

 

Ray closed his eyes and shook his head, massaging the back of his neck with his hand. “Jesus, really?” He laughed. “Oh, God. You really know how to guilt trip a man, don’t you?”

 

“It’s part of the RCMP’s training programme.”

 

“You learned it at Mountie training camp?”

 

Ben smiled at the nonsense they were unexpectedly talking. He knew it helped Ray normalise what was happening. It was reassuring - not just to Ray, but to him as well.

 

“Yes,” Ben deadpanned. “You learn a lot at Depot.”

 

“Glad to hear it.” Ray smiled briefly, then sighed and tilted his head up at the ceiling. “Alright Ben, I’m going in.”

~*~

 

It could be worse. Knowing Ray’s luck, it probably would be. At least the judge hadn’t taken forever to agree to the pretrial hearing, and thank God that it was a closed session. It helped that Ray was a policeman - or had been. It helped that the Feds were pulling strings on his behalf. Apparently it helped that he was an ‘asset’ that had been used against the Mob; apparently it helped that he might even be used again.

 

Not that it helped Ray when he heard that shit. He had been under the impression that he had finally pulled himself together. Then the lawyer (whose name kept slithering from his memory like a fried egg on a pan) said ‘Detective Vecchio is a highly skilled operative, who has endured great personal trauma to bring criminals to justice and is one of an elite few who could do so so again.’

 

Ray had freaked at that. Not just freaked; he had broke down crying, right in front of the judge, the lawyers, the psychiatrists, God and all His angels.. _Don’t send me back._ His voice ached in his ears, his throat rough as sandpaper as he shouted. _Just fucking shoot me. Please don’t send me back_.

 

The judge called recess and they’d all trooped (or in his case practically been dragged) out. After a while he was calm enough to stop shaking and and start thinking. What he was thinking wasn’t encouraging. Because shit. There was no getting around it. That was a piss poor performance. _I just made myself look really, really bad._ If Ray had ever seen a prisoner pull a stunt like that he’d have thought ‘yeah, this wise guy’s going for an Oscar.’ The judge had seen enough crap in her time that she’d never fall for it, even though, in this case, there was nothing to fall for him. God help him, it had been completely real. Which was bad enough in itself, because freak out moments like that reminded Ray that he really was a psycho.  

 

When proceedings finally started up again, Ray was quieter in his head. Valium was good for that, as were the nice psychiatrists who fed it to him. At some point he was going to have to rely on his own character to get through these attacks, but for now he didn’t have to. He’d worry about how the fuck to manage when he knew if he was going to end up in a prison, or a rubber room.

 

The Fed lawyer was talking again, and very hard to ignore, which was a problem. The guy had stopped calling Ray an asset and was now calling him a hero. Ray managed not to laugh or cry. The bozo was getting quite eloquent about it, stating that Ray had been ‘injured in the line of duty.’ According to him having a complete breakdown and trying to kill someone was the same as being hit by a train while saving little babies from certain death. ‘Detective Vecchio is not the first agent to have suffered the consequences of extreme PTSD, and I am sure he won’t be the last. He was simply not given the support that he needed. The fact that he was failed by the system is scarcely his fault. This is a man who risked his life to bring down a criminal gang, who was shot in the line of duty, who....’

 

 _Yeah, right. Blah, blah, blah._ Ray zoned out. This guy could represent America in the Olympics as a gold standard bullshitter. Ray had heard this kind of crap before from defence lawyers. They were always trying to polish a turd. At least Ma wasn’t here to listen to it. Not for want of trying, though. Thank God the Feds wanted everything as hush hush as possible. Even Ma couldn’t get past them. He wondered how she was coping right now. Probably lit a candle for him and wasn’t talking about any of it on pain of death. They were a good family at sweeping dirt under the carpet.

 

No sweeping this under the carpet.

 

Ray closed his eyes on the proceedings, to give himself a reprieve. By the time he opened his eyes again the lawyers had finished their summing up.

 

“All rise,” said the judge.

 

 _Crap. This is it._ Ray stood.

~*~

  


Ray dropped the phone in the cradle and let out a triumphant air punch. “Yes!” he crowed, before he remembered where he was and why it wouldn’t be a good idea to break out into a victory dance. “Uh...” he looked around the bullpen at the other cops and felt heat creep up the back of his neck. Most of them were ostentatiously trying to ignore him, one of them was looking at him with a sneering expression (Dumas, one of the new guys. At least it wasn’t anyone who had ever been a friend.)

 

Shit, Ray should know better than to call attention to anything Vecchio related these days. It was still fucking weird around the bullpen. Everything had come out, of course. All of it _._ Not just that Ray and Ben were a couple, but what had happened to Ben as a child. Everyone knew now why Vecchio had tried to kill Gerrard, who he had tried to kill him for. Once word got out that Vecchio had finally flipped (and turned out there had been a pool going) everything else spilled out afterwards. It shouldn’t have done, but it was inevitable. Police stations were leaky sieves, the worst hubs for gossip. Nobody could keep a secret. And if there were no secrets to reveal, they would probably make some up. Half the two- seven thought that Vecchio was Fraser’s jilted lover, or that he, Fraser and Ray were in some kind of love triangle. Not to mention the fact that Ray had a disciplinary note on his file now, for not having revealed his romantic relationship with a professional partner. Which explained why he was stuck riding desk and hadn’t been assigned a new partner yet.

 

So, yeah. All things considered, things at work were fucked up. It was no surprise that punching the air and cheering when good news came through about Vecchio was a great way of silencing the room. Ray cleared his throat and started back filling in reports, careful to avoid everybody’s eyes. Yup, definitely too quiet. People were going about their business as usual, but it was like someone turned the volume down on the world.

 

Awh, shit. What could he do? Ray’s face twitched as he repressed a smile. He couldn’t help wanting to celebrate that his buddy had escaped prison. Okay, so Vecchio wasn’t out of the woods yet - not even out of the asylum, nut house, whatever the fuck the correct term was for the psych hospital these days. Thing was, at least Vecchio wasn’t going to be locked up with the scum buckets for the rest of his natural life.

 

Ray dropped his head back to his paperwork and started sorting through it - in box, out box, ‘I have no idea what this is’ box. If he stayed quiet people would forget about it, stop being so damn weird, and let him get on with his job.

 

“Hey, Kowalski.”

 

The voice came from behind Ray’s chair. Ray’s shoulders tightened and his muscles bunched. He turned to glare at whoever had snuck up behind him, then relaxed a little. Jack.

 

“Hey, Huey. How’s it going?”

 

“It’s going okay.” Huey sat on the edge of Ray’s desk, making a point of looking casual. “So, I take it you just got good news?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray smiled with relief. He knew what Jack was trying to do: show the room that he had Ray’s back - that he was cool with him, even if he was currently unpartnered, benched and queer. “Uhm, yeah.” Ray twirled a pen with irrepressible pizazz. If he hadn’t been in the Bullpen he might have been dancing a jig, but this was definitely the wrong crowd. “Just heard - Vecchio’s not going to trial.”

 

“So, what? The judge said not guilty?”

 

Jack had avoided the rest of the phrase: ‘by virtue of temporary insanity.’ _Good for you, Jack._ The guy knew the score as well as Ray did. No need to feed the gossip machine.

 

“Yeah. Not guilty. I mean - he won’t be coming home for a while...”

 

“No, no. I get that.” Jack nodded briskly. “It doesn’t matter. He will be going home to his family. That’s the main thing.”

 

“Yeah, it is.”

 

“So, when he does get out, what do you say to a poker night? Four hands, you, me, Fraser and Vecchio. You reckon they’d be up for that?” Jack flashed a grin. “We’d wipe the floor with them.”

 

Ray blinked. That was above and beyond. “Uh,” he stuttered for a moment, then collected himself. Jack had put himself way out on a limb here. Wow. “Yeah, cool. Though, we’ll have to play for candies, what with Ben being such a stickler.”

 

“That’s okay. I like candy.” Jack rubbed his hands together, as though speculating about his future candy haul.

 

“Everyone likes candy.”

 

Jack made a humming sound to acknowledge his approval of that idea. “Oh, yeah,” he added as he turned to go. “Just to let you know, I talked to Welsh and looks like he’s probably going to pair us up at some point.”

 

“Really?” Ray’s jaw dropped for a moment. “I thought you were partnered with Dewey?”

 

“Yeah, well. He’s decided to run the comedy club full time. It’s taking off, and thing is, I’m happy to perform there a couple of nights a week, but managing a business isn’t my thing. Besides, I like busting bad guys.”

 

“And Dewey doesn’t?”

 

“He prefers making people laugh.”

 

“Huh, it’s a - whatdoyoucallit - vacation, uhm, no, calling.”

 

“Yeah, man’s a natural talent.” Jack gave an amused and affectionate nod in Dewey’s direction.

 

“He is that. Wow, though. Dewey, a businessman.”

 

“His paperworks always been better than mine. I reckon he can pull it off.”

 

“Oh crap. You know what this means?”

 

Jack pursed his lips and looked suspicious. “What?”

 

Ray looked down at his in tray and sighed. “If we’re partners our paperwork is going to suck.”

 

Jack groaned then laughed. “We’ll muddle through.” He looked around the room and nodded slightly. People had lost interest in the conversation. Jack had diffused the tension - that was probably part of the reason he had come over. “So, gotta get back to work. Catch you later, Kowalski.”

 

“Yeah, later.”

 

The noise levels in the Bullpen were back to baseline normal. Vecchio had dodged the bullet. This was shaping up to be a good day after all.

 

~*~

 

_Don’t be sick._

 

“Are you okay?” Ben’s lawyer spoke in one of those too soft, too conciliatory voices. A minute ago, in her assumed role as ‘council for the defense’ her voice had been accusatory and snide. She had done business with Gerrard’s lawyer before and thought that this would be the attitude he would take. Even though he knew she had been playing a part the aggression had been unnerving, the questioning profoundly disturbing. Ben knew that he should be glad that he had had the opportunity to practice the cross examination before the trial. If he had come into it unprepared these feelings would have thrown him completely off kilter. He should be grateful for his lawyer’s thoroughness.

 

He felt anything but grateful. Quite frankly, he felt like smacking her. This case was bringing out his worst and most violent instincts.

 

She had asked a question. It still lacked an answer.

 

“Yes. I’m okay.” His voice was tight - his larynx was clenched, he noted, and his heart rate elevated. That was to be expected really. Expected, but not welcome. His physical and emotional reaction to ‘cross examination’ embarrassed him. It was not as though this was his first time in court, he was an officer of the law. It was not even as if this was his first time giving evidence against Gerrard. He should be able to control these kinds of reactions - after all, things were proceeding as they should. And even if, by some awful chance, Gerrard happened to get off on a technicality he was still going to spend the rest of his life in prison for his other crimes. _Yes, but then my shame will be exposed to the world and I will look like a liar. What my grandmother feared will have come to pass. There will always be those who think I am a fabulist or a pervert, and it will all have been for nothing._ “I am absolutely fine.” _Oh, seriously, Ben._ The voice chastising him in his head was his grandmother’s. _Nobody is going to believe that lie._

 

“Really? You not feeling sick or anything?” While Ben had been ruminating Ray had walked across the otherwise empty courtroom. He clearly didn’t believe Ben’s statement. “I ask because you are white as a sheet, sweating, and - you know. Look like shit.”

 

“I am aware of that,” Ben snapped, then closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ray, Ms White. I don’t mean to sound churlish. I am finding this rather difficult.”

 

“Understandable.” Ms White shuffled her papers together and started packing them away. “You’ll be glad to know we’ve finished anyway.”

 

“We have?” Ben was surprised. He had expected to be trapped in this moment for a lot longer. It went on forever, then abruptly it was over. No doubt the trial proper would feel the same.

 

“We have. We’ve done everything we can to prepare for the case, and for what it’s worth, I am sure that you will do well. If people don’t believe you - well, they’re idiots. You are a sympathetic and credible witness, and besides, there is no way we could have twelve idiots on the jury.”

 

Ben stared at her, lost for words. Ray had come up beside him, and took his hand. “Yeah, Ben,” he said softly. “You’ll be fine.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“I know so.”

 

Well, they would know for sure tomorrow.

~*~

 

“I’m an idiot,” Ray groaned into his hands.

 

“Yeah, of course you are,” Frannie agreed. She sounded fairly cheerful about it. He could even hear the snap as she popped her gum. “You weren’t today though,” she continued. “I saw you up there, you were fine.”

 

That was nice of her to say, but Ray knew for a fact that he had fucked up - seemed that was all he did these days. At least he hadn’t been up there long. Just long enough to describe the evidence he had seen, how he knew for a fact that the boy in the photos was Benny (‘you didn’t know Constable Fraser then, did you?’ ‘No, but I know him now, and let’s face it, he’s pretty recognisable. You see that crooked tooth? And what are you saying? You really saying that’s not him? What are you, a liar or a moron?’) and to describe the chain linking Gerrard to the case that had started this whole thing. The defence tried to paint him as an unreliable witness (which, let’s face it, he _had_ only got out of the nuthouse and was still an outpatient. Plus, he kept losing his temper and yelling at the lawyer, which played right into the bastard’s hands.)

 

So, yeah. Whatever Frannie said, Ray wasn’t buying it.

 

“I was a babbling idiot.”

 

“You always were.”

 

“Jeez, thanks Sis.” He couldn’t believe she was sounding so normal. She was probably putting on an act to make him feel like less of a moron. He peeked through his fingers and caught her looking at him with concern. As soon as she saw him looking the expression was smoothed away like it had never been. She was back to looking casual and disrespectful. He might have bought it, but she overplayed her part a little and blew another pink bubble. Oh yeah, she was only pretending not to think he was a headcase. Nobody could love bubblegum that much, not even Frannie. Well, he couldn’t fault her for trying, and it wasn’t like he was going to call her on it. Made things easier for Ma and Maria - plus the kids weren’t scared around him (which he had been thinking they probably would be) and Big Tony didn’t seem to notice anything had happened. Ray was surprised that Frannie was making the effort. He had to stop underestimating her. Well, he couldn’t thank her, but he could be grateful. One day he hoped to pay her back.

 

What was it she’d just said? Oh, yeah. She agreed that he was a moron. That deserved a response.

 

“Takes one to know one.” As retorts went it was juvenile, but that about described their relationship most of the time. Frannie smirked, a real flash of humour, so Ray had obviously struck the right note.

 

“Listen, you wanna go back in?”

 

“Go back in? What, are you nuts?” Ray gawped at her.

 

“It’s not like they can cross examine you anymore. You’ve said your piece, and I know you wanna be there for Benton...”

 

“Hey, it’s for Benny’s sake that I’m not going in. You think that jury needs to see me sitting there? They’ll spend the whole time waiting for me to go postal.” Besides which, much as Ray wanted to be there to support his friend all the way through, his balance was still fragile. There was every chance that watching the rest of the trial unfold would be too much for him. He’d only just got out of hospital - he didn’t want to end up back where he started.

 

Frannie sighed. “That’s okay. Uhm... you wanna go get something to eat?”

 

“Look,” Ray reassured her. “You don’t have to babysit. You go in, back up Ma.” Not that Ma needed backing up - though she might need comfort, even if she couldn’t ask. She had been in the public gallery for the whole trial. Seemed to think that it would help Benny to know she supported him. Ray imagined it made him feel worse - but there was no getting through to Ma. And besides, maybe it did help on some level. At least Benny knew the Vecchios believed him and were still on his side.

 

“Ma’s got Maria.”

 

“See? She needs backup.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Both of them. I’ll head back home, hang out with Dief.”

 

“Okay.” Frannie glanced back up at the courthouse, then at Ray, clearly torn. He kept his face blank - it was like they were playing a game of chicken. If Frannie didn’t go back in it would be tantamount to admitting that Ray was damaged. If she did go in, well, that would show that she trusted him.

 

“Right.” She shook herself, made her decision. “I’ll see you later. Ma made lasagne - stick it in the oven about half an hour before we’re due back. And, oh yeah, could you make that salad dressing Benton likes?”

 

“The one with strawberry infused vinegar?”

 

“I swear you make those ingredients up to throw us off the real recipe. Last time it was smoked turnip oil.”

 

“Truffle oil.”

 

“Whatever. Just, see if you can make some.”

 

“Will do.” Frannie turned to head back to court. “Sis,” Ray called out reflexively and she paused on the step.

 

“Yeah?” She looked over her shoulder, betraying no nerves or concern. Her bubblegum popped.

 

“Just...” Aw hell. He could say it. “Thanks.”

 

She grinned sheepishly, like she’d been caught breaking some minor rule.

 

“Wow. I’d better get in before it starts raining blood. It’s probably the end of the world. I don’t know what you’re thanking me for, but I’ll take it.” She raised a hand and waggled her fingers. “See you later.”  

 

Ray watched her go and tucked his hands into his coat. He wasn’t allowed to drive yet, so after a while he ambled to the curb and started looking for a cab. He was still feeling a little numb to the world, though that might be tiredness as much as anything else. Soon enough he would be home, messing around in the kitchen and pretending to ignore Dief who would follow him around looking for scraps.

 

And God willing, this nightmare of a trial couldn’t last more than another couple of days. It might even be over tomorrow - the jury could even have ruled by the end of the week. It couldn’t come soon enough - not for him, not for Kowalski, not for Benny.

 

A cab slowed down in front of him and Ray walked toward it.

 

Time to go home. Time to wait.

~*~

 

The night before Ben was due to give testimony neither of them could sleep. Ray spooned up behind him, wrapped an arm around his chest. Ben’s body was stiff, then he sighed, as though making a deliberate effort, and relaxed back into Ray’s embrace. Ray stroked Ben’s chest and nestled his chin over the ledge of Ben’s shoulder.

 

“You smell good,” he said. It was probably an odd thing to say, but it was all he could think of. Ben _did_ smell good. Warm, sweaty but not stinky. He had showered after court today, but gone for a run later in an effort to (as Ray put it) ‘get his yah yahs out.’ It didn’t seem to have worked, sadly. On the other hand, that smell of clean sweat, before it had a chance to sour, was something Ray had come to crave.

 

Ben didn’t say anything for a moment and Ray pulled back, wondering (as he sometimes did in moments of insecurity) if Ben was freaked out, if he’d overstepped some sexual boundary, if he’d triggered a memory. Ben rolled over as Ray withdrew and faced him. He didn’t look triggered. He looked muzzy and sleepy, a bit turned on.

 

“You smell good yourself,” he said, and lifted an arm, dropped his hand to Ray’s hip, started stroking up and down Ray’s side. Ray closed his eyes. He was getting hard. He was allowed to do that. He didn’t know why he was freaking out and feeling guilty about it. It was obvious Ben was into this. His hand was roving more widely now, tweaking first one nipple, then the other, then drifting down and ghosting Ray’s erection.

 

“Ray?” Ben stopped what he was doing for a moment. He sighed, then spoke firmly. “Look, turtles.” Ray opened his eyes and laughed. That was their code, what Ben would say to let Ray know that he was happy in the moment, that all was well. Ray responded that he had understood: “red ships.” Ben smiled into Ray’s gaze and moved forward, rolling Ray onto his back, covering him with his body.

 

“I love you,” Ben said, his face solemn as it hovered just above Ray. “Remember that.”

 

“It’s not like I could forget.” Ray felt some playfulness returning to him as the misplaced guilt receded and he let his hand fall on the curve of Ben’s ass. “And besides, I love you too.”

 

“Me, or my posterior?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Good.” Ben hummed and lowered his smile to Ray’s lips. Ray groaned into the kiss and Ben gave it back, gasp for gasp, touch for touch. Ray took it. He took everything. This was what they needed. And it was good, so good. All of it, touch and taste, smell and sound. The fragments of speech - the things they said, the things they didn’t have to say. Ben giggling - who would have thought he was ticklish - Ray sniggering when he asked Ben to say a dirty word and got ‘pigpen’ in reply. This was them, him and Ben. This was them comforting each other, loving each other, saving each other. This was them together, moving as one to the same purpose. As their breath quickened and their motion became more urgent and jumbled all ghosts fled. There was no room for anything other than each other. There were no witnesses, there was no shame.

 

How could there be? This was their bed, pure and undefiled.

~*~

 

Ben felt strangely unmoved as he stood in the witness box, facing the man who had ruined his childhood. Just weeks ago he had been far more scared - terrified, in fact - as he waited for another judge’s pronouncement. Ray Vecchio’s good days were still sporadic, and that had definitely not been one off them. Uncharacteristically Ben had been unable to stand still, and had paced outside the closed courtroom, hands sweating, practically nauseous with fear. When the lawyer came out smiling Ben’s knees had gone, literally, weak. _Weak at the knees. Good Lord, that’s an actual condition, not just a figure of speech._ He had been forced to sit and just breathe for a few minutes, before he was steady enough to phone the station and phone the two seven, before he could manage to deliver the good news to Ray in a voice that didn’t shake.

 

So. Facing Gerrard was nothing. The man could do him no more injury than he had already done. The worst was past. This was nothing.

 

Nothing. Ben even believed it. Then Gerrard walked out of the court holding cells. His ankle chains and wrist restraints clattered, as though he was the stereotype of a family ghost; the skeleton in the closet, the thing that goes bump in the night. He was frail looking, vulnerable with the power of the RCMP stripped from him. He should not have felt like a threat. But he was _there._ His orange prison uniform was so bright it was toxic; it hurt Ben’s eyes.

 

 _Don’t blink._ Ben put his hands behind his back and clenched his fists. _I can do this. I can..._

 

Ben focussed on the specific, the concrete. He had learned that paying attention to the minutiae of life helped when he was on the verge of panic. He hadn’t panicked in several weeks. This was not the time to do so. Instead, he traced the inside of his teeth with his tongue, felt the ridges of his palate. He hadn’t eaten this morning; there was no taste on his tongue of anything - an odd sensation in itself. He was grateful that he hadn’t eaten. He was grateful that his face was calm. He was grateful that he was a man, not a boy. He was grateful that - well. It was maybe immature, but he was glad that he was wearing his favourite uniform.

 

The familiarity of the earthy brown was a comfort, a subtle, unorthodox rebellion against the red that had dominated his life. Knowing that the RCMP had covered the rape of a child had destroyed what flimsy trust he had clung onto after his father’s death. Both his Rays had pointed out his tendency to play the ‘perfect Mountie’ to excess. He had spent his whole life overcompensating. He could stop now. He understood. No need anymore to go running after cars and jumping off cliffs. He could stand down. Finally.

 

He glanced across to the public gallery. Ray Vecchio wasn’t there, of course. His appearance at the trial earlier in the week had shaken him badly, and no amount of reassurance that he hadn’t wrecked the case helped. Ben could perfectly understand why he wanted to avoid this. If he could have done so himself he would have done.

 

Alas, that was not an option. Right now Ben had butterflies in his stomach. Or bats. Something unpleasant and roiling deep in his gut.

 

He could do this, though. Ray Kowalski had also given his testimony yesterday, and was in the gallery now, his eyes fierce in their pride and love for him. Next to him sat the bearlike bulk of Welsh, next to him the more elegant, but equally imposing figure of Jack Huey. The Vecchio women were out in force, although Ben could have wished for their absence. He knew they meant well, but he didn’t relish the fact that they would hear every sordid detail.

 

Still. After this it would be over. And however it fell out, he could finally start planning the rest of his life. He just had to get through the next few hours.

  


_God._ Easier said than done. Over the last months Ben had lived through a wider range of emotions than he had ever imagined he possessed. He didn’t even have the language to describe how he felt right now. His mouth was dry. For a horrible moment, Ben thought he would be unable to speak. He had always been so good at speaking. Words couldn’t abandon him now. Not when he most needed them. How did he feel? His Rays said it best. They so often did. _This sucks._

 

Yes. But on the other hand - it was nearly over.

 

Ben relaxed his hands, breathed out steadily and felt calm returning on the in-breath. The last time Ben had been in a room with this man he hadn’t even looked at him. He had been too busy trying to stop his best friend from ruining his life. Gerrard had been nothing at all.

 

And he would be nothing forever, after today.

 

Ben lifted his gaze and looked Gerrard straight in the eye.

 

Gerrard flinched.

 

_~*~_

 

Fucking hell. Ray shouldn’t have been worried, not for a moment. Ben was a stone cold hero. Throughout his whole testimony he described events, clarified evidence and answered questions as clearly and methodically as he would have done at any other trial. Yeah, sometimes his voice cracked; sometimes he closed his eyes and had to gather himself. He wasn’t a robot after all. But he did it. Not a single misstep. The defence were clearly trying for a mistrial, trying to trip Ben into mentioning Gerrard’s other convictions. Ben didn’t fall for it.

 

“Obviously, the events you described did occur,” Gerrard’s lawyer was saying, “and I am very sorry for that.”

 

Ben lifted an eyebrow, suspicious, but not nervous. “Thank you.”

 

“But, nearly thirty years is a long time. Why are you only now accusing my client of a crime? Your family have history with the defendant. Might this accusation not be motivated by personal reasons?”

 

Ben tilted his head, nodded slightly. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

 

“What do you see?”

 

Ben cleared his throat. _Don’t say it, please, Ben._ Ray squeezed his eyes shut in silent desperation. _Don’t say it._ Ben’s lawyer had been right in her guess. This sleazebag was so obviously trying to get Ben upset, to get him to say ‘he killed my father.’ Which, while it would make everyone with an actual soul (so not Gerrard or his lawyer) sympathise with him would get the case thrown out for prejudicing the jury.

 

“I see that this conversation is veering off course. To answer your previous question: your client is accused based on evidence that arose from a police investigation into a paedophile ring. Evidence which you, yourself, have looked at.” Ben’s face went bright red and his cheek twitched - shame or anger. Whichever it was, he swallowed it down and kept on talking. “The jurors have seen the same pictures that you have, the same evidence that you have. I would scarcely be here humiliating myself like this for some personal grudge.”

 

The court was silent for a moment. Then the defence lawyer shrugged, a microscopic gesture of defeat. He didn’t seem too broken up about it, just started wrapping up as though he had already accepted that he’d lost.

 

When the cross examination were over and the jury dismissed, Ray took Ben home. Ben was quiet in the car, quiet on the way up to the apartment, quiet as they walked in the door. Then he was holding onto Ray in the hall, shaking and still silent. Ray put his arms up around him. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, Ben. I’m here. You’re safe now.”

 

“I know,” Ben’s voice was rough and muffled against Ray’s shoulder. Ray held onto him and let him cry.

 

And then - then it was over. They had barely finished breakfast the following morning when they were called back to court. The jury must be sure of themselves, to have made their decision so quickly. _Please God, let it be good news._

 

It was. Gerrard’s face was wooden as the verdict was read. None of that condescension or mockery he’d shown flashes of during the trial, that Vecchio told him was normal for the bastard. Ray felt a surge of vicious gratification flood through him as the lead juror responded to each charge. Rape of a minor, actual bodily harm, production of pornography - one charge after another: Guilty, guilty, guilty. Guilty on all charges. Guilty as fucking sin.

 

~*~

 

Benny looked lighter as he walked down the courthouse steps with Kowalski by his side. Ray had already heard the judgment - Frannie had texted the single word ‘Yes!!!’ which told him everything he needed to know. Even so, it didn’t seemed real until he saw the guys smile at him. He smiled back and ran up the steps to meet them partway.

 

“Hey, I heard. Congratulations.”

 

“We couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

Ray snorted. “Yeah, right Benny. A crazy ex cop who tried to kill the accused. That looked _real_ good.”

 

“It didn’t look bad,” Kowalski reassured him. “You didn’t hang around for the rest of the trial so you didn’t see how the juror’s took it -”

 

“Well, duh. Like people needed to see the mad fuck who tried to kill a poor old man chained to a table.” Ray didn’t care what anyone said. The defense lawyer had a field day with that one. Even knowing that Gerrard had been convicted, Ray squirmed. He had given testimony in many criminal trials; this was the only one where he felt like a bug that deserved to be crushed. He’d not been able to leave his room the next day, replaying every mistake he had made over and over in his head. It was Kowalski who came and talked sense to him. Well, shouted sense at him. When court shut up for the day Kowalski just booked it across town, barged in the front door, started yelling. No wonder they’d picked him to cover for Ray when he was in Vegas. Kowalski might look nothing like him, but he was a Vecchio in all but name. “Get your ass out of bed, you dumb fuck. You think Ben needs you wallowing in self pity? Get over yourself, get downstairs, and eat some goddamn breakfast.”

 

It had actually worked.

 

Not that Kowalski stayed mad at him though. Not that Kowalski even was necessarily mad in the first place. He just knew how to get through to Ray; when things got bad the women of the family wanted to mother him, even Frannie. Kowalski had the sense to kick his butt.

 

“It wasn’t as bad as you’re making out,” Kowalski persisted. Yesterday he had been too busy stuffing his face with arancini to say much. Benny had been the reassuring voice back then. Maybe the two of them were right - Gerrard was convicted, after all. “And you never know, it might even have helped. The fact that you were so angry - well, people get that. The jury understood why you did it. And there’s a lot of people say they’d do it. You’re kind of a folk hero.”

 

“Oh God.” Ray rolled his eyes. “Shall I put that on my resumé? Psychotic folk hero.”

 

“Yeah, why not?” Kowalski was grinning, his thumbs tucked into the hoops of his belt. “I’m sure someone would hire you. Tell ’em you’re Batman.”

 

“Have you decided what to do?” Benny interjected before Ray and Kowalski could get into their full schtick. “You have had some offers, I understand.”

 

Ray paused. He still wasn’t quite sure he was ready for something new, but it didn’t hurt to have plans in place. And it’s not like he was planning on going full time for a while. He did know that getting out of the house and feeling useful was good for him. He’d been volunteering at Mike’s house doing youth work. It was the kind of thing Kowalski would be good at, what with the boxing and stuff, but Ray wasn’t doing too badly. The kids were better playing basketball than getting into trouble with the gangs. Catch ’em young. And after a few hours running up and down the court Ray usually had an happy post exercise buzz going. Between that and some part time work somewhere he’d keep himself busy and have space to decide what to do next.

 

“Yeah. Welsh and Huey, they put out some feelers for me. I was sort of surprised, really. Seems my record hasn’t put everyone off me.”

 

“Yeah? Spill.” Kowalski, as always, was brief and to the point.

 

“Consultancy work, mainly. There’s a legal firm interested, and a security firm. A couple of others, but they’re the main contenders.” Ray paused. He’d pretty much decided which one to take. Benny and Kowalski would be the first to know. “I’m going with the security firm. It’s good wages for part time. Not as good as the legal eagles, but I don’t trust lawyers.”

 

“Hey, you were married to a lawyer.”

 

“Why do you think I don’t trust ’em? Come on, you were married to the same one.”

 

Kowalski opened his mouth and pointed at Ray in mock outrage. Benny got in first.

 

“Ray, Ray. Please, don’t be so unchivalrous.”

 

“Okay.” Ray felt embarrassed. “You got a point, Benny. Stella wasn’t that bad.”

 

“Got a kink for marrying lunatics though.” Kowalski sighed. “Poor woman. No wonder she keeps getting divorced.”

 

Ray tried for a menacing look. “Who you calling crazy, Stanley?” Kowalski’s smile faded a little and Ray cracked up laughing. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I know I’m crazy.” He clapped his hands and turned around, looking up and down the street, grinning. The whole thing was over. “So, guys, where are we gonna eat? We gotta celebrate.”

 

“Anywhere you like, Ray.” Benny’s eyes were warm.

 

“I know a place,” Kowalski said. “Diner, about two blocks from here. Does a good burger.”

 

“This place do good meatloaf?”

 

“Yeah, and chocolate milkshake.”

 

“I know the exact place you mean.” Ray got in step with Benny and nudged him. Kowalski had his arm looped through on Benny’s other side. A few people looked at them funny, and Ray let it go. If they’d said something, maybe he’d have got in their faces, maybe not. He didn’t know. He did know that he wasn’t so angry all the time. Who would have thought that therapy worked?

 

“Does this place do ice cream?” Benny asked in a hopeful voice. “I ask because I have a sudden craving for a banana split.”

 

“Jeez. I thought Kowalski was the child in this family. Yeah, Benny. They do banana splits.” Ray smiled at the world around him and his friends. “You’ll love it.”

  
  
  



End file.
